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Jewels of Memory 



By Col. JOHN A. JOYCE, 

AUTHOR "checkered LIFE," "PECULIAR POEMS," " ZIG-ZAG," ETC. 



TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION. 



Second Edition — Illustrated. 



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WASHINGTON, D. C. : 

Gibson Bros., Publishers. 

1896. 












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COPYRIGHT, 

BY 

LIBBIE JOYCE 
May 15, 1895. 



Stereotyped by the Maurice Joyce Engraving Company. 






DEDICATION. 

I dedicate this volume to the American soldier and sailor 
whose bravery and patriotism on land and sea for more than a 
century challenges the respect of mankind and will command 
the admiration of posterity. — J. A. J. 



PREFACE. 

These Jewels from the casket of personal memory I flash 
over the ocean of literature, trusting that some sparkling rays 
may attract human hearts when the soul that divined and the 
hand that fashioned them has vanished like the dews of the 
morning. . — J. A. J. 



CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 

Page. 

Lyon and Jackson n 

CHAPTER n. 
Fletcher and Blair 19 

CHAPTER HI. 
Farragut and Porter 26 

CHAPTER IV. 
Sheridan 31 

CHAPTER V. 
Sherman 38 

CHAPTER VI. 
Grant 47 

CHAPTER VII. 
Roscoe Conkling 5^ 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Spinner in bronze • 66 

CHAPTER IX. 
Samuel Sullivan Cox 76 

CHAPTER X. 
George D. Prentice 86 

CHAPTER XI. 
Parson Brownlow 95 

CHAPTER XII. 
Father Ryan and Henry Stanton 104 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Breckinridge 109 



INDEX. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Page. 
General Nathaniel Bedford Forrest ii8 

CHAPTER XV. 
' ' Corporal ' ' Tanner 123 

CHAPTER XVI. 
The National Capital 126 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Battle of Shiloh — Louisville Experiences 132 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Burnside in East Tennessee 143 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Jim Nelson ; A story of Georgia Loyalty 149 

CHAPTER XX. 
Iowa Experience 157 

ORATIONS. 

I. Hector. A Newfoundland dog. Kentucky, 1857 171 

II. Decoration Day 173 

III. Emancipation Day 179 

IV. A Toast to Woman 184 

Poetic Pebbles 187 





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Genl. Nathaniel Lyon. 



JEWELS DF MEMORY. 



CHAPTER I. 



LYON AND JACKSON. 

Nathaniel Lyon, of Connecticut, and Thomas J. Jackson, 
of Clarksburg, Va., were the Puritanical soldiers of the late civil 
war. A deep religious conviction of patriotism actuated the 
hearts of these natural leaders, who never faltered in a plan 
once adopted, but struck the enemy with lightning force and 
rapidity, accomplishing by audacity what other generals failed 
in securing by time and numbers. 

Lyon was born in the year 1819, graduated in 1841 at West 
Point, and was killed at the battle of Wilson's Creek, Mo., on 
the loth of August, 1861. 

" Stonewall " Jackson was born in the year 1824, graduated at 
West Point in 1846, and received his death wound at the battle of 
Chancellorville, Va., in May, 1863, dying on Sunday, the loth 
of that month. 

Both of these military chieftains served as lieutenants in the 
Mexican war with Scott and Taylor, fought in the same battles 
for the Stars and Stripes, and were promoted for marked gal- 
lantry. After the Mexican war Jackson resigned his commis- 
sion and took a professorship in the Military Institute of Virginia^ 
at Lexington, where he taught until the shot on Sumter aroused 
the nation to battle. 

At the close of the Mexican war Lyon went to California, 
served on the Indian frontier with great distinction and after- 
wards in the Kansas political troubles, commanding at Fort 



12 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Riley and taking a leading part in the bloody events that made 
Kansas a free State. 

In May, 1861, Lyon went to St. Louis and took charge of a 
handful of United States regulars at the arsenal, and, while only 
a captain, soon rose to the position of brigadier general and took 
command of the 5,000 or 6,000 volunteers that Blair, Sigel, 
Fletcher, Cavender, and other patriots had raised to counteract 
the militia that Governor Claiborne Jackson had assembled in 
camp at St. Louis with the evident intention of chaining Mis- 
souri to the chariot wheels of the Confederacy. Sterling Price 
and Governor Jackson had a consultation with General Lyon 
at the Planters' House on the critical situation existing between 
the State and national authorities. The city officials of St. Louis 
insisted that Lyon must confine his military movements to the 
narrow precincts of the arsenal. Lyon replied that the troops 
of the United States had a right to march anywhere under the 
flag, and if any man or body of men attempted to interrupt 
their course destruction and death would be the consequence to 
the enemy. 

On the 14th of May, 1 861, while State and national authori- 
ties were haggling about policy and precedent, Lyon made a 
rapid march with his troops to Camp Jackson, located in the 
western part of the city, surrounded the State militia com- 
manded by General Frost, and demanded an immediate sur- 
render. There was nothing left to Frost but to fight or lay 
down his arms, and, as the guns of the loyal troops were ready 
to belch forth a deadly volley. Frost wisely chose the part of 
discretion and surrendered his 700 men and their munitions of 
war. 

The citizens of St. Louis were terribly excited over the un- 
looked-for dash of Lyon, and while the prisoners were being 
marched back to the arsenal some one in the surrounding mob 
threw stones at a German regiment, which quickly replied 
with a murderous fire, killing and wounding a number of people. 

For forty-eight hours the city was in a wild state of revolution, 



LYON AND JACKSON. 13 

" Home Guards " and *' Minute Men " watching each other from 
street corners, dark alleys, basements, cellars, and attic windows. 
This daring act of Lyon in capturing the State militia saved 
Missouri to the Union and drew at once the lines between loyal 
and disloyal citizens. Thus, one brave spirit is the iron hand to 
sphce the timbers of a crumbling State or solidify the breaking 
arches of a nation. 

While Governor Jackson, of Missouri, was doing his best to 
drag the State into the whirlpool of secession Governor Letcher, 
of Virginia, was not slow in organizing troops to sustain the 
Southern Confederacy and enlist the Old Dominion in the war 
against the Union. 

Thomas J. Jackson was the commander of the State militia 
under Governor Wise when that rugged fanatic of freedom, John 
Brown, was wounded, captured, and hung at Harper's Ferry, and 
Robert E. Lee was the commander of the regular troops on 
that occasion. The firing on the flag at Sumter was but the 
echo of the scaffold thud at Harper's Ferry and the knell of 
human slavery in this Republic. Jackson offered his heart and 
hand to his native State, was commissioned a colonel, and was 
soon after made a brigadier general of the Confederacy under 
the command of Beauregard and Johnston. The brigade of 
Jackson was felt at the first battle of Bull Run, and while Mc- 
Dowell, Sherman, and Burnside attempted to break the gray 
lines at the celebrated " Stone Bridge " the Confederate troops 
immediately under Jackson stood like a stone wall. 

General Bee, a companion commander of Jackson, in cheer- 
ing his men into the fight, called their attention to the front and 
exclaimed, " Look at Jackson and his men, he stands like a stone 
wall," and from that historic day to the present time the hero of 
a hundred battles has been known as " Stonewall " Jackson. 

During Jackson's life he was the mainstay of General Lee. 
In 1862 and 1863 he had an independent command and swept up 
and down the Shenandoah Valley like an eagle, pouncing upon 
his prey when least expected. At Winchester he dashed against 



14 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

old General James Shields, of Irish and Mexican memory, and 
for the first time in Jackson's career he was beaten back like an 
ocean breaker on a rock-bound shore. He, however, foiled and 
whipped in detail parts of the commands of McClellan, Fremont, 
Burnside, Banks, and Miles, capturing more than 11,000 men 
from the latter at Harper's Ferry. 

The celerity of Jackson's movements over the passes of the 
Blue Ridge, through the luxuriant fields of the Shenandoah 
Valley, over the swollen streams and rolling hills of Maryland 
bring to mind the active genius of the Great Napoleon, whether 
leading his soldiers on foot over the bridge of Lodi or hurling 
his serried battalions against the foe on the plains of Marengo 
or at^the rising sun of Austerlitz. 

It was a common belief with the soldiers of "Stonewall" 
Jackson that his constant prayer and solemn sincerity assured 
victory on every field, and the Almighty inspired and led their 
beloved commander. They never doubted a full supply of 
rations and clothing while any political generals were found in 
the Valley, and it was a source of amusement that certain Union 
officers acted as commisariats for the half starved and ragged 
Confederates. At Malvern Hill, Antietam, Fredericksburg, and 
down to the fatal night at Chancellorville, in May, 1863, when 
he received his death wound from an accidental shot, Jackson 
never faltered in his duty nor doubted the issue while he had a 
soldier to command. The same inflexible fortitude that signal- 
ized his conduct at Cherubusco and Chapultepec in fighting for 
his country actuated his soul in battling against it. Peter the 
Hermit and Marshal Ney were never inspired with more lofty 
courage or religious devotion to duty than Jackson evinced on 
the blood-stained battlefields of the late war. When dying at 
Guinea's Station his wife told him the end of life was near. He 
replied as his last words, "Very good; very good; all right," 
and thus as a child of destiny he passed into the realms of the 
vast unknown. 

The integrity and valor that characterized the life of Jackson 



LYON AND JACKSON. I5 

belong to American heroism, and, although he fought for the 
disruption of the Union, his bravery and genius must be recog- 
nized in every land and clime where man batties with man and 
dies for what each deems the right. 

When Jackson's wound was reported, Lee replied, " He is 
better off than I am. He lost his left arm, but I have lost my 
right." " Stonewall " Jackson bore the same relation to Lee 
that Ney held to Napoleon, and, were it not for the accidental 
stations of the chiefs, I am convinced that the lieutenants would 
have outshone the luster of their superiors. It is thus unfortu- 
nate for a great genius to be born under the shadow of one in 
a great office, for, while the subordinate exercises wonderful 
powers, his greatest deeds are obscured by the commanding 
general, and the glory that should shine out like the mid-day 
sun beams dimly, like the evening star through the mists the 
great luminary has diffused ! 

After the fall of Camp Jackson, in Missouri, General Lyon 
took immediate command of all the troops in St. Louis, replac- 
ing General Harney, whose age and inaction ill suited him for 
controlling the desperate daily events occurring through the 
State. 

Governor Jackson and General Price had begun hostilities in 
the center of Missouri, and as no time could be lost Lyon issued 
his proclamation against the treasonable movements of the Con- 
federates, and marched at once on Jefferson City, the capital of 
the State. He also sent a force to Southeast Missouri, where 
a handful of men under Colonel Thomas C. Fletcher turned 
aside the soldiers of Price at Potosi and prevented the capture 
of St. Louis. 

On the approach of Lyon to Jefferson City the combined 
Confederates under Sterling Price retreated to Boonville, where 
a battle was fought on the 17th of June, 1861, resulting in a 
complete triumph for the Union troops. Lyon followed up his 
success, pushing the enemy towards Springfield in Southwest 
Missouri, after defeating them at Dug Springs. The foe finally 



l6 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

assembled at Wilson's Creek, about 9 miles from Springfield, 
where General Ben McCulloch made a junction with Price, 
massing a force of 24,000 men as against 6,000 under Lyon. 
The Confederates had a cavalry force alone of 6,000, while 
Lyon had only 500. Yet, with this great difference ifi numbers, 
the worn-out condition of his volunteers, and the heartless and 
jealous conduct of superiors in failing to reinforce him. General 
Lyon called a council of war and determined not to retreat and 
give up all the blood-bought territory that had been recently 
gained, but to make a night march, attack the enemy at daybreak 
and risk all that fight and fate might present. The determination 
of Lyon to attack a force four times his number was worthy the 
bravery of Alexander or Napoleon, and, were it not for his un- 
timely death in leading the First Iowa to a desperate charge, it 
is conceded on all sides that the Confederates would have been 
defeated and driven from the State. The fight continued for 
nine hours with alternate success. Lyon divided his little army 
into two divisions, retaining about 4,000 men himself, while 
Sigel with the remainder and a battery of guns made a detour 
from the main line of attack in order to strike the enemy on the 
flank and rear and then rejoin Lyon at a given point, but before 
Sigel was aware of his location and danger the enemy drew 
him into ambush, where he lost five of his six guns and a num- 
ber of his men were taken prisoners, and thus the German 
general was broken up and crippled during the balance of the 
battle. 

Lyon, however, kept up the fight on the Confederate lines 
with the most desperate resolve, receiving two wounds, while 
his horse was killed under him, yet he mounted another and 
led his last charge, in the midst of which he was pierced through 
the breast with a rifle ball. 

Major Sam Sturgis, of the regulars (late general command- 
ing at the Soldiers' Home in Washington), by common consent 
took charge of the troops after the death of Lyon and contin- 
ued the fight into the afternoon, driving the enemy from their 



LYON AND JACKSON. 1 7 

camps and off the field. Knowing the superior numbers of the 
Confederates, Sturgis withdrew to his base of supplies, at Spring- 
field, and turned over his command to General Sigel, who 
made a masterly retreat to Rolla with all his stores and a quarter 
of a million of Government money. 

The death of Lyon threw a cloud of sorrow over the Union 
cause, and while his corpse was en route to his native Connecti- 
cut the people of great cities paid homage to his memory and 
the Congress of the United States passed resolutions of respect 
and regret, while eloquent eulogiums were delivered in honor 
of the fallen hero. When the will of Lyon was opened by his 
executors it was found that he left his money, more than $30,000, 
to be devoted to the preservation of the Union ; thus giving all, 
both life and fortune, for the salvation of his flag and country. 

Lyon and Jackson were deeply mourned by their friends, and 
in all human probability had these natural soldiers lived until 
the last shot at Appomattox they would have been in supreme 
command of their respective armies. Jackson was mathemat- 
ical, solemn, and a strict believer in predestination. Lyon 
might have been the right arm of Oliver Cromwell, and while 
gifted with the military genius of Jackson he combined state- 
craft with his war-like talent, and was thoroughly conversant 
with the political philosophy of the Republic. These warriors 
had many elements in common. The Puritan of Connecticut 
had the solemnity of the cavalier from Virginia. Lyon was 
direct and positive in his work. So was Jackson. The Yankee 
was spare and angular, with piercing bluish gray eyes. The 
Southern soldier looked about the same. Lyon was studious. 
Jackson was contemplative. Lyon never doubted. Jackson 
was self-reliant. Lyon left West Point as Jackson entered. 
Each fought for the old flag in Mexico, but when the rebellion 
began they separated, on the ideal of duty, and fought as earn- 
estly as when bleeding for the same banner. The genius and 
death of Lyon gave genuine promise of his greatness, while the 
death of Jackson, nearly two years after, found him the rigl.t 



1 8 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

arm of the Confederacy and in the zenith of his glory. Lyon 
with a regiment would fight a division. Jackson with a division 
would fight a corps, and each could command an army. 

While Lee and Longstreet, Grant and Sherman, learned 
wisdom from the rugged road of experience, Lyon and Jackson 
divined at once the motives of men, planned the attack, struck 
the blow, and as a natural sequence triumphed where defeat 
perched on the banners of those who doubt. 

The brain of the natural soldier is his map of battlefield. As 
the pawns, knights, and bishops are moved on a chess board, 
he organizes brigades, divisions, and armies to checkmate his 
foe at some central point, and wins the victory while his adver- 
sary hesitates on the field of slaughter. 

The name and fame of Lyon and Jackson shall emblazon the 
military pages of this great Republic as long as honesty and 
valor are respected, and side by side through the coming ages 
these imperturbable, ideal soldiers shall march in the van of the 
military heroes who have gone down to universal silence in the 
crash of battle. 

Peace to Stonewall Jackson, 
God bless brave Lyon, too; 
Sighs and tears we'll mingle 
For the Gray and for the Blue; 
And coming ages yet shall weave 
Fondly, fair and true — 
Garlands bright above the mounds 
Where sleep the Gray and Blue! 



CHAPTER II. 



FLETCHER AND BLAIR. 

Governor Thomas C. Fletcher, of Missouri, was born in 
Jefferson County of that State on the 22d of January, 1829. 
His parents were from the Eastern Shore of Maryland and were 
slaveholders. 

A few months' schooling in the fall and winter during boy- 
hood under the ferule of a country pedagogue in an old log 
school house was the extent of his early education. At the age 
of twenty-one he was elected clerk of his county and recorder 
of deeds, and held these positions until 1856, when he was ad- 
mitted to the bar and resigned the county offices. 

Although reared and educated in the atmosphere of slavery 
he was instinctively opposed to the institution, and when the 
Republican party was formed in 1856 he was a delegate to the 
national convention, the first from any slave State. He was a 
member of the Chicago convention that nominated Mr. Lincoln 
in i860, and canvassed his State for the great Liberator. 

In personal appearance Fletcher is a fine-looking man. He 
stands six feet one ; stalwart and straight in form. His head is 
large, round, and high, of Shaksperian proportions. His eyes 
are dark brown, nose prominent, lips and chin emphatic, yet a 
contour of countenance expressing benevolence and deep 
thought. 

When he makes up his mind on any private or public sub- 
ject he stands as firm as the rocks, and no cajolery or threats 
can intimidate him. He has been a pioneer of thought and 
leads instead of following, simply because nature built him that 
way. When others hesitate to go to the front, he is the first to 
step right up to the danger line and toe the mark, even unto 

(19) 



20 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

death. He is very politic to a certain point and will do as 
much for peace, order, and compromise as any man, but when 
it comes to the word " fire," his pistol goes off first. 

I met Governor Fletcher in St. Louis twenty-five years ago, 
and from that time to this, as a mystic brother, a soldier com- 
rade, a confidential lawyer, and unfaltering friend, we have been 
on the most intimate terms. Often have I sat in social conclave 
with himself and friends in St. Louis and Washington and heard 
his reminiscences of the late war and the great actors in the 
rebellion. 

The winter of sixty and sixty-one, up to the shot on Fort 
Sumter, was a stirring and fearful period for the loyal men and 
women of Missouri. 

Seated one day, in the fall of 1870, at the Planters' House, in 
old John King's restaurant, with Fletcher, Francis P. Blair, Gratz 
Brown, William McKee, Henry T. Blow, and James B. Eads, I 
heard more early war stories from these noted men than I ever 
expect to hear again. They have all passed into the vast unknown, 
save Fletcher, who still lingers as one of the few war governors. 
On that occasion he was the principal spokesman, although 
General Frank P. Blair put in his oar every now and then with a 
deep splash that stirred up the waters of memory. 

Fletcher remarked to Blair, *' Don't you remember when you 
took a crowd of us ' roosters ' down to the arsenal and introduced 
us to General Lyon that cold February morning just after his 
arrival from Fort Riley, in Kansas ? " 

'* Well, I should say so," answered Blair ; " when I forget 
myself Pll forget Nathaniel Lyon, in my opinion the greatest 
soldier of our war. Yes, boys it will be a cold day when I 
forget that red-headed Puritan. What a stern, manly-looking 
officer he was, with his close-fitting captain's uniform, his erect 
and athletic form, piercing deep blue eyes, Roman nose, thin 
lips, firm jaw, expressive of indomitable will, and a voice as clear 
and distinct as the tones of a midnight fire bell." 

" Tom," said Blair, " do you know that if it had not been foi 



FLETCHER AND BLAIR. 21 

that hero, Lyon, Missouri would have been chained to the wheels 
of the Confederacy, for General Harney was either too partial to 
the Southern leaders or too inert to know or see what ' Claib.' 
Jackson and his gang were doing." 

" No, Frank, I think if it had not been for your influence with 
Secretary Cameron and President Lincoln in superseding Harney 
with Lyon, Missouri might have been for awhile cut away from 
the moorings of the Union ; but, by the Eternal, we'd bring 
her back or burst the Republic in trying ! And, then, you were 
behind Lyon in urging him on to the capture of Frost and his 
militia at Camp Jackson ! " 

"Frank," said Fletcher, "tell us all about that celebrated 
Planters' House meeting between Lyon and Claib. Jackson." 

" Well," said Blair, "there isn't much to tell. It was short, 
sharp, and decisive. There were only six of us present. ' Claib.' 
Jackson, the governor; Sterling Price, and Tom Snead repre- 
sented the Confederate cause, while Lyon, Major Conant, and 
myself stood out for the Union. Lyon opened the ball by say- 
ing that I would do the talking for the Government, as the 
authorities at Washington had confidence in my loyalty. Gov- 
ernor Jackson first said, ' I do not want the Government to enlist 
troops in Missouri or march its soldiers across the State.' I 
could see that the only reason Jackson asked for the conference 
at all was to gain time and make sure Missouri should enter 
rebellion. We talked pro and con for about three hours, and 
the more we talked the further apart we found ourselves. 

" I could see by the flash of Lyon's eyes and his compressed 
lips that he was getting madder and madder as the discussion 
progressed, and, while he suggested that I should do the talking, 
he soon took the lead himself and threw out his national ideas 
like hot shell out of a cannon. 

" I saw at once that the fiery captain was about to break up 
the conference, when, finally, in reply to Governor Jackson, he 
said : ' Rather than concede to the State of Missouri the right 
to demand that the National Government shall not enlist troops 



22 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

within iier borders or bring soldiers into the State whenever it 
pleased and move them at its own will into, out of, or through 
the State ; rather than concede to the State of Missouri for one 
single moment the right to dictate to my Government in any 
matter, however trivial, I would see (pointing to each of us) 
you and you, and you and you and you ; and every man, woman, 
and child in the State dead and buried ! ' 

" Then, pointing directly at Governor Jackson, he said : ' This 
means war ! In an hour one of my officers will call and give 
you safe conduct through my lines.' And then, turning on his 
heel, without a look or word he rushed out of the room with 
rattling spurs and clanking saber, the personification of Napo- 
leonic defiance and action. 

" We looked at each other in blank amazement for a few 
moments, made a few personal remarks, when Conant and my- 
self bid good-bye to our Jefferson City friends, and from that 
moment to the close of the civil war we were open enemies." 

The group of men that sat around that festive table I shall 
never forget. They were leaders, and each in his day played 
an important part. 

William McKee was born in the Empire State and came 
West when a boy, and soon after engaged in newspaper business. 
He became proprietor of the old Union and was the expo- 
nent of Benton, after which he became the proprietor of the 
Democrat, with George Fishback, and afterward the Globe- 
Democrat, with Dan Houser. Under the present editorial 
management of Joseph B. McCullough(" Little Mack") it has 
become a power in the land, and its miscellaneous articles and 
editorials are copied all over the world. 

B. Gratz Brown was a brilliant journalist, lawyer, and politician, 
and in the early contests with slavery he took sides with freedom, 
and while editing the old Democrat he warmly espoused the 
ambitions of Frank Blair. Brown was a native of Kentucky, 
became governor of Missouri in the so-called " Liberal" move- 
ment that upset the uncharitable and tyrannical " Drake " con- 



FLETCHER AND BLAIR. 23 

stitution. He ran as Vice-President on the ticket with Horace 
Greeley, and both were swamped in a tidal wave of popular 
indignation, poor Greeley dying soon after as a victim of vault- 
ing ambition. 

Henry T. Blow, a wealthy miner and white lead manufact- 
urer, was a citizen of great influence and commanded the respect 
of personal and political powers. He had been a Congressman, 
and also represented the United States at the court of Dom 
Pedro, in Brazil, negotiating commercial treaties with that Em- 
pire very advantageous to the country. He was a man of 
inborn politeness, shrewd, diplomatic, and generous, and was 
held in the highest esteem by General Grant, who often con- 
sulted him about political matters in the West. 

Captain James B. Eads was a man of remarkable perseverance 
and possessed an extraordinary genius as an engineer. His 
perceptive faculties were largely developed, and his head might 
serve as a companion-piece to Bismarck or Humboldt. 

Sir Christopher Wren and John A. Robling were never inspired 
by a larger scope of ambition in the profession of engineering 
and architectural skill than Eads. He was equal to any emer- 
gency. When the United States wanted ironclads to ply up 
and down the waters of the Mississippi during the war. Captain 
Eads jumped into the arena and filled the bill. 

When St. Louis stood halting for many years for bridge con- 
nection with the East, with small ferries and a river of ice at its 
front, it was Eads that came forward and threw across the Mis- 
sissippi the finest steel bridge in the world, resting on piers and 
abutments, based on the rock of ages. 

When the mouth of the Father of Waters became filled and 
choked with the sands of centuries, brought down from the 
golden and silver ribs of the rocky mountains, it was Eads who 
planned and executed the herculean task of a national dentist, 
and tore away the snaggled teeth and lumpy roots, giving to the 
Nation, by his jetties, a free river to the bounding billows of the 
gulf. 



24 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

General Francis Preston Blair first saw the light of day at 
Lexington, Ky., on the 19th day of February, 1821. He sprang 
from Virginia stock, his grandfather, James Blair, removing to 
Kentucky in the year 1 800, and was afterward attorney general 
of his adopted State, while his son Francis, the father of our 
subject, became a noted political character during the life of 
Henry Clay, Andrew Jackson, and Martin Van Buren, being 
for many years the editor of the Congressional Globe. 

The same year that ushered General Blair into the world, 
Missouri, the theater of his earlier and later triumphs, was ad- 
mitted into the Union after a hard contest between the Demo- 
cratic and Free Soil parties, when the celebrated Missouri Com- 
promise forbidding the further extension of slavery was enacted. 

Blair graduated at Princeton when only twenty years of age, 
and settled in St. Louis to practice law. His restless spirit tested 
the wilds of the Rocky Mountains in 1845 and 1846 until the 
Mexican war found him with Kearney and Doniphan battling 
for the old flag. 

In 1848 he supported the Free Soil party under the leader- 
ship of Van Buren, and in 1854 was elected to the legislature 
after a very hot canvass on the slavery question. In 1856 he 
was elected to Congress and made a noted speech favoring 
the colonization of the black man in Africa, endeavoring to pluck 
the thorn of slavery from the side of the Republic. 

He was a passionate orator and a slashing editorial writer, 
fearless and manly in all his movements. 

When Fort Sumter was fired upon and the flag of the Nation 
desecrated he was the first man in Missouri to step to the front 
and offer his services to the Government. For four years he 
battled on the Mississippi, Cumberland, and Tennessee for the 
salvation of the Union. He left the Army in September, 1864, 
after the capture of Atlanta, a major general, who commanded 
the fighting Seventeenth Corps through all its historic marches 
and battles. 

General Logan and himself took part in the Presidential cam- 



FLETCHER AND BLAIR. 2$ 

paign and rendered invaluable service to Mr. Lincoln and the 
Republican party. 

Logan was a loyal Democrat, and wherever the banner of 
" Black Jack" moved on the field of slaughter there was found 
intensity and victory. He inspired his command with the spirit 
of his own unconquerable soul, and rushing into battle, with 
long, flowing raven locks, he was the equal of Murat at Ma- 
rengo, Skobeleff at Plevna, and Sheridan at Winchester. So 
long as the Grand Army of the Republic, Loyal Legion, and 
Sons of Veterans exist and Decoration Day, the 30th of May, 
is celebrated as a national holiday, just so long, in bronze, song, 
and story, will the memory of our illustrious comrade shine down 
the crowding ages. 

A few years after the war General Blair allied himself with 
the Liberal-Democratic party, was elected to the United States 
Senate, and became a candidate for Vice-President on the ticket 
with Horatio Seymour. 

His opposition to the reconstruction laws of Congress was 
radically pronounced, because of that generous, spontaneous 
nature that would not hit a man when down. 

Blair was six feet tall, high forehead, prominent nose, firm 
lips, gray eyes, and walked upright through the world as God 
had made him. 

The people of St. Louis have erected a statue to his memory, 
and, so long as loyalty and Lyon are remembered by the Nation, 
such patriots as Fletcher Logan, and Blair will find a prominent 
niche in the temple of the Republic! 



CHAPTER III. 



FARRAGUT AND PORTER. 

For more than a hundred years the American Navy has sus- 
tained the honor and Hfe of the RepubHc, and, although Albion 
boasts of being mistress of the seas, we have matched her Nelson, 
Blake, and Cockburn with Paul Jones, Stephen Decatur, and 
David Farragut. 

Wherever the Stars and Stripes met the Union Jack or any 
other flag, on land or sea, its enemies were finally forced to sur- 
render to the emblem of freedom. 

The American soldier at Lexington, Yorktown, New Orleans, 
and Gettysburg performed heroic deeds of universal renown, 
yet the American sailors on the Bonhomme Richard, the Ches- 
apeake, the Essex, the Constitution, the Armstrong, the Monitor, 
the Cumberland, the Kearsarge, and the Hartford has written 
his name in letters of blood and radiant light on the highest 
roll of battle glory. 

Today, although not first in the list of maritime war vessels, 
we can, if necessary, with the New York, the Columbia, Terror, 
and Indiana, commanded by such specimen officers as Admiral 
Walker, Captain Robley Evans, and Lieutenant Lucian Young, 
conquer and capture anything that monarchy can send against 
us. This is not said in any boasting spirit, but with that abso- 
lute faith our people have always had in the shrewdness and 
pluck of the Yankee sailor. 

I have participated in war and deeply studied the elements 
that guarantee victory on land and sea, and I am thoroughly 
convinced that it is not large forts, big ships, steel plates, or 
great guns that lead to success in desperate encounter. No ; it 
is the stout heart, the iron nerve, and the unconquerable will 
(26) 






■«,';», ^ 




Capt. Robley D. Evans, U. S. N. 



FARRAGUT AND PORTER. 2/ 

beating under the blue jacket, that makes tyranny tremble and 
waved our glorious flag over the defeat of every foreign and 
domestic foe. 

I was introduced at the White House to Admiral David G. 
Farragut by General Grant very soon after his first inauguration 
as President. 

The Admiral impressed me as a man of lofty ideals. He 
spoke in measured tone, looked rugged in form, swarthy, with 
wrinkles from the sea, and large, dark eyes, inherited, no doubt, 
from his Spanish ancestors, who were great soldiers and officers 
in the thirteenth century, and aided their royal master in ex- 
pelling the Moors from their luxurious abodes on the sunlit 
slopes of Granada and Andalusia. The father of the Admiral 
was a soldier in our Revolutionary War, and soon after its close 
moved over the mountains to the wilds of East Tennessee, where 
our hero was born at Campbell's Station, near Knoxville, on the 
5th of July, 1801. 

When only a boy of ten years he was taken aboard of 
the celebrated Essex by Commodore Porter, where he no 
doubt, received the first lessons of naval warfare. He rose step 
by step from the war of 1 812 to the rebellion of 186 1, when his 
firm character placed him at the head of the American Nav}.. 
He impressed me as a lonely, solemn character who lived 
in his own world of glory and cared but little for the adulation 
and flattery of mankind. He seemed wTapped in the solitude 
of his own originality — a hermit enthroned on the mountain 
crag of thought. 

I have found all great men plain, simple, and unobtrusive,, 
making no pretense whatever, resting their renown and historic 
greatness upon their blunt deeds. The Admiral was one of this 
kind, as is well known by his action on the Hartford in passing 
forts Jackson at New Orleans and Morgan at Mobile. 

His fleet advanced on Mobile at 6:47 oclock that August morn- 
ing, when Captain Alden, the leading officer, suddenly stopped. 
Farragut, from his high lookout in the rigging of the Hartford,. 



2S JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

shciuted : " What's the trouble ? " Alden rephed, " Torpedoes ! " 
Farragut exclaimed : " Damn the torpedoes ! Four bells, Cap- 
tain Drayton ! Go ahead ! " 

And, then and there, the Hartford led the line to victory, 
•crowning the old Admiral with a wreath of imperishable glory. 
His fine statue, made by the artistic Vinnie Ream, now graces 
the Capitol. 

Glory to great Farragut, 

And to the Hartford true. 

That ploughed through the torpedoes, 

With the red, the white, and the blue! 

DAVID D. PORTER. 

I met Admiral David D. Porter in the fall of 1874, being in- 
troduced by his good wife, who wished to see me relative to a 
position in the revenue service for her son Essex, at St. Louis. 
I had never seen the Admiral before and was much interested 
in such a noted sailor. He seemed to be a man of strong prej- 
udice and indomitable will. 

He was born in Chester, Pa., on the 8th of June, 18 13, the 
son of that other David D. Porter that swept the Atlantic and 
Pacific in the war of 181 2, and who made such a wonderful 
fight in the harbor of Valapairaso against the combined attack 
of the British war ships Phoebe and Cherub. I could not help 
while looking on his fine, firm countenance, thinking that " blood 
will tell," no matter what carping critics may say to the con- 
trary. We conversed for more than an hour upon personal, 
political, and war memories. I sent an occasional shot to prod 
and elicit the Admiral's rich and rare reminiscences. I tried 
for the time to be a good listener, which is a rare faculty. He 
referred with commendable pride to his naval and army ances- 
tors, who figured prominently in the history of the United States 
since the Revolutionary war. 

By a twist in the talk, I switched him off to a description of 
the attack on Forts Jackson and St. Philip and the passage of 



FARRAGUT AND PORTER. 29 

Farragut's fleet up through the throat of the mammoth Missis- 
sippi and on to the final capture of New Orleans in April, 1862, 
His eyes brightened as I referred to the terrible mortar and 
gunboat bombardment on the forts and their ready response 
for six days. 

" Yes," he said, " I was placed in charge by the Secretary of 
the Navy of the mortar and gunboat Flotilla, more than twenty 
crafts, under the general command of Captain Farragut, to 
accomplish the destruction of the forts, rebel rams, and gun- 
boats ; and the ultimate capture of New Orleans. History will 
show that such a continuous, red hot, blazing firing, night and 
day, has seldom if ever been witnessed from frail wooden crafts 
on a rapid river against seemingly impregnable forts, seige guns^ 
chains, hulks, rams, and fire rafts. 

" Yet while the heroic and unconquerable Farragut did not 
have an ironclad in his whole fleet of forty-six bottoms, he 
managed to surmount every obstacle and reduced the strongest 
works of the Confederacy, dealing a blow to the rebel cause 
that it never survived, and leading the way for General Grant, 
about a year later, to baflie Pemberton and Johnston and force 
the surrender of Vicksburg. 

" Farragut well knew the boasted strength of New Orleans and 
its fortified vicinity, but he also knew that with such brave sub- 
ordinates as Bailey, Bell, Boggs, Morris, Alden, Craven, and 
Caldwell he could sail or steam through the harbors of hell and 
make the devil himself surrender ! 

"About 2 o'clock on the morning of the 25th of April the 
whole fleet moved up the river to pass the forts, chains, hulks,, 
fire-rafts, and rams that the enemy had prepared for our reception. 

" In three hours the grand work was accomplished, after the 
most desperate conflict I ever witnessed. The morning heavens 
were Ht up, as if volcanic fires and smoke were belching from 
the bowels of the earth, and the terrible roar of shot, shell, and 
bombs from forts and river made a perfect pandemonium. 

"By II o'clock in the morning Farragut flashed the Stars 



T,0 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

and Stripes in the very teeth of New Orieans and demanded of 
Mayor Monroe the surrender of the city and the hoisting of the 
old flag over the custom-house, mint, and city hall to replace 
the Pellican flag that still waved after the retreat of General 
Lovell. 

" I was ordered to remain with my mortar and gun boats and 
force the surrender of Forts St. Philip and Jackson, which I did 
in forty-eight hours, leaving the latter fort a mass of destruction, 
in fact a complete wreck, for during the days of the extended 
bombardment I threw 5,000 bombs and shells into these devoted 
strongholds of rebellion." 

Admiral Porter was at this point interrupted in his extremely 
interesting story by a message from President Grant, who desired 
to see him. I reluctantly shook hands and took my departure, 
but strung another jewel on the sunlit chords of memory ! 

The old hero now sleeps beside his loyal wife under the shady 
oaks of Arlington, to the left of General Sheridan and in front 
of the mansion once inhabited by General Lee. His glorious grave 
is yet unmonumented, but I trust the Nation will not allow such 
a gallant warrior to slumber in obscurity, and, ere long, erect 
over his remains a great granite shaft, firm and conspicuous as the 
character it will memorize. 

Congress should not allow its naval heroes who have passed 
to the realm of shadows to be forgotten. The corners, angles, 
squares, and circles of Washington City must be devoted to 
heroic statues, and, soon as possible, the first to be honored 
should be John Paul Jones, Stephen Decatur, William Bain- 
bridge, David D. Porter, and William B. Gushing, the desperate 
young hero that blew up the rebel ram Albemarle, leading 
thirteen men in the night attack, who were all lost but himself. 

A Republic thus honoring the memory of her illustrious sons 
perpetuates its own life ; and, as the Athenians and Romans 
erected splendid monuments to their heroic dead, so should we 
rear memorials to the brave men who have fought and fell for 
the perpetuity of this Republic ! 



CHAPTER IV. 



SHERIDAN. 

A FEW days before the battle of Stone River, Tenn., in De- 
cember, 1862, I first met General Philip H. Sheridan. He 
commanded an infantry division in the Army of the Cumber- 
land, under the illustrious General Rosecrans. Standing in front 
of his tent, surrounded by some of his staff, on the edge of a 
clump of cedars, and looking toward the enemy's camp, Sheri- 
dan presented the picture of a typical soldier. He could not 
have been more than five foot six, and his hair was beginning 
to show strands of gray, while his grayish blue eyes peered into 
the distance like a flash from the eye of Destiny. His head was 
round, forehead high and square, with a punctuation point of a 
nose surmounting a short mustache, firm lips and emphatic 
chin that said to all the world, " Clear the track and make room 
for my command ! " 

His division did the best fighting at Stone River and saved 
Rosecrans' right from the repeated onslaught of Hardee and 
Bragg ; and many months afterward, at Missionary Ridge, he 
led his dashing command over the Confederate breastworks and 
was the first to plant the Stars and Stripes over the shattered 
hosts of Bragg and Breckinridge. 

When General Grant took charge of the Army of the Poto- 
mac, in May, 1864, he cast about for some man of nerve, 
dash, and judgment to take command of the cavalry and knit 
together the broken remnants of the various divisions that had 
become somewhat of a laughing stock with the infantry boys, 
who repeatedly offered large rewards to any person who would 
show them a dead cavalryman. 

Grant naturally determined to call to his aid Sheridan, who 

(31) 



32 JEWELS OF iMEMORY. 

had been his social comrade in the wilds of Oregon before the 
war and who had made a mark in the rebellion not inferior to 
any officer of his rank in the Army. General Mead was in 
immediate command in the field of the Army of the Potomac, 
which included the cavalry. 

Sheridan soon found that his three divisions were ordered 
right and left after he crossed the Rapidan, and while virtually 
in command of all the cavalry would often detach certain divi- 
sions and leave Sheridan to do the best he could to foil the 
movements of Jeb Stuart, the most illustrious cavalry officer of 
the Confederacy. 

Sheridan remonstrated with Mead, and at headquarters on 
one occasion gave his opinion in no uncertain words and bolted 
out of the tent with exclamations of insubordination. Mead 
soon after repeated the incident to General Grant and com- 
plained of Sheridan's talk and action. Grant asked him, what 
did Sheridan say ? Mead replied that Sheridan wanted direct 
and absolute charge of the cavalry, and if he was allowed the 
privilege he would go right on and whip hell out of Jeb Stuart. 
" Did Sheridan say that ? " " Yes ; " replied Mead. " Then," 
said the General, " I'd let him go out and do it ! " 

The world has long since known how the hero of Winchester 
and Appomattox went over the hills and vales of Virginia like 
the roar of thunder and death-dealing strokes of lightning. He 
whipped Stuart's cavalry, as he promised, and killed the com- 
mander. A Texas blizzard or a West India cyclone were not 
more deadly in their whirling course than Sheridan when pur- 
suing an enemy, with 10,000 troopers at his back. His eye and 
mind grasped the situation in all its details and his presence at 
any one point during a battle was worth 1,000 men. 

A few days after the great Chicago fire I visited that city 
from St. Louis in company with Orville Grant. Sheridan's 
Sheridan's headquarters were there at the time, and through 
his active instrumentality thousands of famished citizens re- 
ceived food and shelter. Many bless his memory to this 



SHERIDAN. 33 

day for the immediate relief furnished by the Government. 
Half of the city was laid in ashes. While riding about the 
smouldering ruins with Orville Grant I could see on every hand 
tents that had been issued by the military arm of the United 
States to shelter weary and destitute people. 

The business house of Grant & McLean, located on Lake 
street, was destroyed and their stock of leather, harness, and 
saddles went up in smoke. Orville was $40,000 worse than 
nothing. He still had his little frame house on Wabash avenue, 
so far out that the fire failed to reach it. I remained at his house 
with his wife and four children two days, but before I left assisted 
him in business. 

The evening before I started back to St. Louis, he suggested 
that we call on General Sheridan, who was privately located in 
bachelor quarters, on Michigan avenue about four blocks away 
from the house of Orville. I was glad to accept the invitation, 
as I had not seen the General since the war and felt that a 
few hours in his presence could be spent with pleasure and 
profit. The house was a modern one, plain and well furnished, 
looking out on the rolling waves of Lake Michigan as they beat 
in rhythmic tattoo on the sandy beach or dashed over the stony 
breakwater that stretched away in the glimmering twilight. 

Grant and myself were ushered into the parlor, and soon after 
Sheridan appeared, greeting us with that offhand sincerity that 
characterized all his movements. We talked for some time 
about the awful catastrophe that had visted the Garden City, 
and the General talked and acted as if he had suffered a per- 
sonal loss in the widespread destruction. 

Finally, about 10 o'clock, we made a motion to retire, but he 
asked us to remain a little longer, while he disappeared for a few 
moments and then returned. Soon after a servant appeared 
with a large decanter of brandy and three glasses. He placed 
the Bacchanalian instruments on a marble center-table and 
departed. The General asked us to help ourselves, saying : 
" There is some first-class brandy that a friend sent me. I want 



34 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

you to try it, and if you like it we will have some more." Grant 
and myself filled our glasses, as did also the General, and we 
drank his health ; and I, to punctuate the toast, included the 
black horse that he rode at Winchester. Each of us sav^ the 
bottom of his glass, and I noticed at the mention of the black 
horse the General's eyes snapped fire as if he was once again 
in the saddle, rushing down the pike toward Cedar Creek to 
turn retreat into victory. 

I remarked. General, won't you be kind enough to tell us 
some of the details of that famous ride of yours that Buchanan 
Read has immortalized in poetry, and on the spur of the moment 
I quoted this verse — 

" The first that the General saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops. 
What was done, what to do, a glance told him both, 
And striking his spurs with a terrible oath. 
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas. 
And the wave of retreat checked its coure there because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause ! " 

The General smiled and said : " Joyce, I am afraid the poet 
did more for Sheridan than he ever did for himself. Read was 
here some time ago and took dinner with me. That marble 
bas-relief on the mantel-piece of Rienzi and myself dashing 
down the Winchester pike was presented by some of his friends. 
If it had not been for the strength and spirit of that black horse 
out in the stable, pointing to the rear, I doubt very much whether 
I'd have got on the field in time to turn the boys back, recover 
our camps, and thrash Early before dark ! 

" You may know I had been up to Washington for a day or 
so to consult with President Lincoln and Secretary Stanton on 
the situation in the Valley, and left Crook, Wright, Merritt, and 
Custer to take care of things until I returned, not thinking that 
Early would take the offensive, remembering the lesson I taught 
him the month before at Fisher's Hill. 

" But very early, in fact before daylight, on the 19th of Octo- 



SHERIDAN. 35 

ber, an officer came to my temporary headquarters, near Win- 
chester, and reported continuous firing at the front. I had just 
got back from Washington. I told the officer to find out what 
he could and report again. I took things leisurely, not think- 
ing but my officers at the front could hold their own with Early 
in any event. 

" Yet, after a hasty breakfast, I became somewhat alarmed at 
the reports that came in and prepared at once to rush to the 
front. With Major Forsyth and Captain O'Keefe, of my staff, 
and about twenty men as an escort, I dashed away from my 
headquarters through the town of Winchester about 9 o'clock in 
the morning, leaving Colonel Edwards in command to stop 
stragglers. I could see from the faces of the citizens, and par- 
ticularly from the action of the women, that something unusual 
of good news had reached them by grapevine telegraph. 

''After I had crossed over the hill, beyond Mill Creek, I be- 
held the first view of my panic-stricken army. Hundreds of 
slightly wounded men, clumps of frightened stragglers, mules, 
horses, cattle, ambulances, and baggage wagons by the score 
blocked up the road or dashed about through the fields to find 
a way to the rear. 

"As soon as the boys saw me they threw up their hats, gave 
some wild cheers, shouldered their guns, and paused in their 
onward flight. I checked up a moment amid a mob of my 
broken ranks, took off my hat, gave them a loud cheer and 
impulsively cried, * Boys, if I had been with you this morning 
this thing would not have happened. We must face the other 
way. We will go back and recover our camps.' They gave 
prolonged cheers, and I could see that my words of encourage- 
ment flushed their eyes and faces with enthusiasm, while the 
line officers were already endeavoring to bring order out of 
chaos and reorganize their men for fight. 

" I put spurs to Rienzi and once more galloped down the 
pike through straggling men and broken wagons, through the 
village of Newton, often leaving the choked-up road for the 



36 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

open fields and cheering the men as I went along, appealing to 
them to turn back, and I must say they halted to look after me, and 
their cheers even to this day ring in my ears and thrill my heart. 

"Among the first of my generals to meet me was the gallant 
Torbert, who threw his arms around me and exclaimed, ' My 
God, I'm glad you've come!' About 10:30 or 11 o'clock I 
was in the midst of my command, and soon communicated with 
Crook, Wright, Custer, and Emory, the latter holding the enemy 
at bay and repulsing many of his frantic dashes. I felt very 
much humiliated to think that our morning camps on Cedar 
Creek and my headquarters at Belle Grove House, munitions 
of war lost ; many of my men unburied in front and prisoners 
in the hands of the enemy. 

" Custer and Merritt were forming their cavalry for immediate 
fight. Wright, Crook, McMillen, and McKenzie, although 
wounded, were rallying their men. By i o'clock in the after- 
noon I was at the far front, and casting my eyes to the right and 
left I could see that various regiments and brigades were getting 
into place and bracing up for defense and a forward movement. 

** I intended, in my heart, before night closed down to retake 
our camps on Cedar Creek and occupy my headquarters at Belle 
Grove House or boldly sacrifice the balance of my Army. The 
Nineteenth, Sixth, and Crook's Corps were in good shape at 4 
o'clock in the afternoon, and about that time I ordered Custer 
to lead off in a quick charge to the front and wake up the 
'Johnnies,' who seemed to be hesitating as to what they should 
do with their morning victory. 

" My advance was evidently a surprise to Early, and when 
my infantry got in their murderous work with the crackling roar 
of musketry I could see that we regained our lost ground rap- 
idly. To make a long story short, by sunset we had the enemy 
on the dead run across Cedar Creek and far beyond, with thou- 
sands of prisoners in our hands, many captured flags, stacks of 
small arms, transportation material, and more than forty pieces 
of artillery. 



SHERIDAN. 37 

" Well, gentlemen, I must say that I never felt prouder of a 
day's work in my life than that performed on the 19th of Octo- 
ber, 1 864. I felt that the power of the rebel army in the Shen- 
andoah Valley was lost forever, and that their supply garden 
would henceforth furnish food for Union soldiers or be utterly 
destroyed. 

" In winding up my campaign in the Valley I found it a mili- 
tary necessity to destroy some of the mills, grain, and hay that 
had served the enemy in their rebellion against the Govern- 
ment. For this I have been roundly abused and damned to the 
echo, but the censure of an enemy I always regarded as praise, 
and since I satisfied General Grant and President Lincoln, my 
superior officers, I could well ignore the ravings of the enemies 
of my country. 

" Now, boys, I have told my little story. Let's try a litde 
more brandy, and we'll go out to the stable and pay our respects 
to Rienzi, the gallant beast that turned defeat into victory at 
Winchester." 

Sheridan stood behind the horse with his hand on his flank, 
and the noble animal gave a short, low whinny as the General 
said, " Boys, what do you think of him?" Grant was a fine 
judge of a horse, and expressed his opinion as an expert. 1 
could see that the horse was jet black, with fine features, clean- 
cut ears, about sixteen hands high, with strong legs and three 
white feet, but to my poetic mind I could only see Rienzi as 
another Bucephalus who would shine down the centuries with his 
heroic master — 

" And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky — 
The American soldier's Temple of Fame — 
There with the glorious General's name, 
Be it said in letters both bold and bright: 
Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 
From Winchester — twenty miles away!" 



CHAPTER V. 



SHERMAN. 

Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman was the most brilliant 
soldier of the late war. He was born in the Buckeye State, 
where his comrades Grant and Sheridan first saw the light of 
life ; and, taken altogether, Ohio can count this great triumvirate 
of illustrious heroes as the best product of her soil. 

They were graduates of West Point, and in youth had no 
wealth or great friends to push them to fortune and fame, but 
with that pluck and perseverance that characterizes greatness 
they pushed on to the pinnacle of earthly renown. 

Sherman divined the purposes of the Confederate leaders 
more clearly than any soldier or citizen at the beginning of the 
war. In January, 1861, before the fire on Sumter, he was presi- 
dent of the Military Academy of Louisiana and had taught the 
young bloods of the South the science of military movements. 
Many ol his West Point schoolmates circled about his institu- 
tion, and often at the banquet board he met Bragg, Beauregard, 
Twigs, Johnston, and the Governor of the State, with his staff, 
as well as the richest planters and fairest women that the Peli- 
can State could produce. State after State of the South were 
passing ordinances of secession and wheeling into the vortex of 
rebellion and raising armies to resist the logic of the election of 
Mr. Lincoln as President of the United States. Sherman saw 
and felt the desperate determination of the Southern leaders, 
and, stating that his fealty and loyalty must forever remain for 
the Union, he resigned the presidency of the Military Academy 
and came North to await the overt act of treason. Events were 
multiplying thick and fast, when, on the 12th of April, 1861, 
Beauregard shot down the flag floating over Fort Sumter, and 
(38) 



SHERMAN. 39 

on the 14th Major Anderson with his heroic band of loyal sol- 
diers were marched out as prisoners of war, paroled, and sent 
North. Sherman was in St. Louis at the time and was em- 
ployed as president of a street railroad company, but was soon 
after appointed as colonel of the Thirteenth United States In- 
fantry, one of the new regiments called into being by President 
Lincoln. In June, '61, he was on the staff of General Scott, 
with headquarters on Seventeenth street, opposite the War De- 
partment, but about the middle of July he took command of a 
brigade located at Fort Corcoran, on the bluffs across the Poto- 
mac from Georgetown. He had five regiments and Ayers' 
battery of artillery. Among the noted regiments of his com- 
mand were the Seventy-ninth New York, Colonel Cameron's 
Scotch, and the Sixty-ninth New York, Colonel Corcoran's 
Irish, who did the best fighting of any of the troops at the first 
battle of Bull Run, and who formed squares against the " black 
horse cavalry " and protected the rear on the disorderly retreat 
of the Union forces to the banks of the Potomac. Colonel 
Cameron, of the Seventy-ninth, was killed and Colonel Corcoran, 
of the Sixty-ninth, was wounded and taken prisoner, while his 
gallant, impulsive Irishmen suffered a greater loss in killed and 
wounded than any regiment in the division. 

Sherman soon after appeared at Louisville, Ky., and relieved 
General Anderson of the command of the Department of the 
Cumberland, which he voluntarily relinquished on account of 
suffocation and nervous prostration that clung to him since the 
desperate fires of Sumpter. Sherman only stayed in command 
about two months and was relieved by General Buell. The 
story was sent afloat through the New York Tribune and Cin- 
cinnati Commercial that he was insane, crazy, etc. This fool 
roorback arose out of a council of war held at the Gait House 
for the purpose of talking over the situation in Kentucky and 
the absolute and immediate need of more troops against the 
advancing forces of General Buckner and Gen. Albert Sidney 
Johnston, who were within a day's march of the Ohio River. 



40 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Simon Cameron, the Secretary of War, his Adjutant General 
Lorenzo Thomas and official party were present at the confer- 
ence. Sherman had then only about 18,000 men, while the 
enemy had at least 50,000, and he, in that square, blunt man- 
ner, informed the Secretary of War that 60,000 men were needed 
immediately to protect the center of the grand Union line from 
East to West, and that before Kentucky, Tennessee, and 
Georgia could be redeemed from rebel sway it would take more 
than 200,000 men ! Cameron jumped from the bed where he 
he was reclining and exclaimed, " My God ! where are you to 
get the men ? " Sherman replied that there were thousands in 
the North ready to enlist and fight, and it was the business of 
the War Department to equip them and send them to the front. 
This shot staggered " Simple Simon " and his adjutant general, 
who left that afternoon for Washington, and in a few days we 
only heard of Crazy Sherman" on the outskirts of Halleck's 
staff in Missouri, and then on leave of absence with his family 
at Lancaster, Ohio. But the restless spirit of this loyal, pro- 
phetic, heroic warrior could not be cribbed, coffined, or confined 
by the jealous midgets of mediocrity or the barbed arrows of 
journalistic gerrymanders. We soon find him in command of 
Benton Barracks, at St. Louis ; then at Paducah, and after the 
capture of Fort Donelson moving up the Tennessee on trans- 
ports with a newly-formed division, composed of four brigades, 
mostly raw troops from the rural districts of Ohio, Illinois, and 
Indiana. He picked out his camping ground near Pittsburg 
Landing, three miles out on the Corinth road, where Albert 
Sidney Johnston was collecting an army to crush the Union 
forces ; and around the gray eagle Sherman more than 40,000 
Union soldiers collected under the command of General Grant, 
and finally won one of the most decisive battles of the war. 

I shall never forget the Tuesday morning after the fight as I 
strolled uver to Sherman's division and beheld the hero perched 
on a stump making one of the most scorching speeches I ever 
heard. 1^ seemed that in the Sunday fight Hildebrand's and 




Genl. W. T. Sherman. 



SHERMAN. 41 

Buckland's Ohio brigades gave way at the first onslaught of the 
dashing enemy, and many of the regiments were Hterally torn to 
pieces and scattered during the balance of the conflict. Sherman 
was trying to collect the remnant of the officers and men of these 
brigades, and this is about the way he addressed the soldier 
mob that listened to him with the deepest humiliation : " You 
are a nice set of soldiers. Many of your officers acted like 
dastard cowards, and I have no doubt that some of them are 
now feeding fish in the Tennessee River or making tracks for 
their homes in the North. I'm ashamed of you, and instead of 
running away from these infernal rebels and dragging your 
general after you, you should have stood like men and died for 
that splendid flag that waves over that tattered tent. What in 
the devil did you enlist for if it was not to fight and die for the 
Union. Far better had you remained in your father's field hoe- 
ing potatoes, pulling pumpkins or at the counter measuring tape 
or sanding sugar than act in such disgraceful manner before the 
enemy. Had all the boys done as you did we'd be already 
en route for Libby prison or Andersonville. You must always 
remember that we hail from the grand old pioneer State of the 
Northwest, the land of Mad Anthony Wayne, Joshua Giddings, 
Tom Corwin, Ben Wade, and Gen. William Henry Harrison, 
and hereafter in battle I want you to die first and run afterward ! 
I intend to have some of your officers dismissed from the Army, 
and had I my own way I would order now a drum-head court- 
martial and have at least a half dozen of them shot ! Look 
around you this morning, after the battle, and see your com- 
rades in clumps under the branches of these torn oaks sleeping, 
in death, the long sweet sleep of heroic warriors. Hereafter imitate 
their glorious example and in future fights stand like a rock 
against the enemy, striking to the death for God and your native 
land ! " 

This was the most remarkable speech I ever heard, and I 
inwardly congratulated myself that I belonged to the Twenty- 
fourth Kentucky and not to any of the regiments that ran away. 



42 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

His speech was received in somber silence, and the rain from 
the dripping branches, mingling with the moan of the April 
winds, were the only sounds that disturbed this military philippic. 

We, of course, know that General Sherman rose step by 
step by the greatness of his own genius. Along the Missis- 
sippi, on to Vicksburg, Missionary Ridge, Knoxville, and his 
great march from Chattanooga to Atlanta and the sea, reminds 
the historic and intelligent reader of the career of Alexander 
the Great, who ascended the throne of Macedon and Greece 
when only twenty, and conquered the eastern world at the age 
of thirty -two. With 40,000 Greeks he invaded Asia and Persia, 
and, after a series of desperate battles, on to Arbela, Granicus, 
and the Indus. He routed and conquered more than 1 ,000,000 
men led by the voluptuous and illustrious Darius and placed 
the petty potentates of the Oriental world under his feet. The 
march of Sherman from Chattanooga to the sea, and the rapid, 
continuous skirmishes and battles through Georgia from the 
5th of May, 1864, to the 22d of December, when he rode tri- 
umphantly into the city of Savannah, equal in rapidity and 
importance the movements of the illustrious Macedonian. 

I'll never forget a midnight, morning, personal experience I 
had with the General and Colonel Dayton, of his staff. It was 
two days before the assault on Kenesaw Mountain, where Joe 
Johnson had strongly intrenched himself and awaited the attack 
of his antagonist, the great flanker. My regiment, the Twenty- 
fourth Kentucky, had been skirmishing through the afternoon 
and even after sunset on the extreme right of our line, only 
Stoneman's cavalry hanging around our flanks. When night 
closed with desultory musketry firing, my regiment, which occu- 
pied the right of Cox's division and Cameron's brigade, threw 
out a strong line of skirmishes along the Sandtown road and 
near Olley's Creek, where General Schofield, the commander of 
the Twenty-third Army Corps, had established his headquarters. 

I was adjutant of the Twenty-fourth Kentucky at the time, 
young and enthusiastic, caring little for consequence and less for 



SHERMAN. 



43 



sleep. About two o'clock on the morning of the 25th of 
June, while a drizzling rain pattered through the trees on the 
slumbering soldiers, wrapped in their gum blankets, I rose 
from a fitful slumber and concluded to go to the front and see 
how the officer of the day and the pickets were doing their duty. 
I was tired and hungry, but as we were on the eve of battle 
I wanted to be on the alert for the benefit of the regiment and 
not let the " boys in gray " get the bulge on us. With haver- 
sack, canteen, coffee can, and gum poncho I quietly made my 
way through the sleeping regiment, passed the guards, and in 
a short time reached the picket line, where I found Captain 
Barber, the officer of the day, making his rounds of a half mile 
in conjunction with his brother officers of the brigade. In 
passing back to the regiment near a brook with abrupt banks I 
met John Caldwell, Jim Jackson, and Reube Warner, of my 
regiment, standing picket, the extreme infantry outpost of 
Sherman's army. I saw that under a jutting rock the boys 
had made a smudge fire to heat up some coffee. I remon- 
strated with them for the recklessness of the thing, knowing 
that the enemy were just across the creek, not 500 yards away. 
However, I told Coldwell to move out some fifty yards farther 
and I would tend to the cooking of the coffee, for I was nearly 
famished myself. I dodged behind the rock, took off my own 
coffee can, filled it with water and coffee, set it on the fire with 
the other two cans, and began to pile on some dry pine twigs 
that I found at the root of a tree. It was not long until the 
coffee began to boil, and my heart went out to the aroma it ex- 
haled. At this moment I heard Warner exclaim, " Halt ! who 
comes there ? " The response came, "A friend with the coun- 
tersign." " Dismount, advance, and give the countersign." A 
tall form with slouch hat and poncho cape advanced, gave the 
countersign, as did also his companion. I stepped up immedi- 
ately and saluted the General and his aid, who knew me per- 
sonally. Sherman asked me if all was well. I told him that 
every man was at his post and ready for a fight. I stood be- 
tween the smouldering fire and the General, to prevent him from 



44 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

seeing the situation, but his lynx eyes and distended nostrils could 
not be deceived. He said, "Adjutant, how is this? Have you 
not strict orders that no fires shall be made in front of the 
enemy ? " I replied that what he saw was only a semblance of a 
fire, and not a fire, and what he smelt was only a couple of cans 
of coffee that the boys had put on to warm. " Let me see 
how warm that coffee is." I stepped to the smouldering fire 
and brought him my can of coffee, which was red hot, and as 
black as your hat. He took hold of the wire bail, lifted it to 
nis lips very carefully, took a mouthful, and said, " Here, Day- 
ton, take a dose of that." The aid complied to his sorrow, and 
with a grimace that said, "Oh ! hell," passed the can back to 
the General, who poured out a small part of the coffee and 
asked me to fill it up with water from my canteen. I did so, 
and then the General drank two-thirds of the contents, passed 
the balance to Dayton, who finished it. They mounted their 
horses, and as the General turned to the rear, said in a half 
quizzical tone : " Remember, * boys,' no fire in camp, but at the 
enemy ! " 

Inside of forty-eight hours after this interview the corps of 
Thomas, McPherson, and Schofield were moving to the front 
and tightening their lines of steel around the rocky ribs of Ken- 
nesaw Mountain. Wave after wave of bluecoats dashed against 
the fortified stronghold of Gen. Joe Johnston, and for nearly 
three hours Sherman tried in vain to dislodge the foe, and 
finally drew away to the right flank, which caused the retreat of 
the enemy to the Chattahoochee River and the fortified sur- 
roundings of Atlanta. The battle of Kennesaw Mountain was 
the first repulse that Sherman received in his grand march to 
the sea and taught him the lesson not to attack insurmountable 
heights when he could flank to right or left and accomplish the 
same result with less loss of limb and life. 

I was shot through the upper right thigh in this engagement 
while leading my regiment against rifle pits at the base of this 
mountain, and thus received a leave of absence from the Army 
from that 27th of June, 1864. 



SHERMAN. 45 

I met General Sherman several times after the war in Wash- 
ington, St. Louis, and New York in social and Grand Army- 
banquet boards. In June, 1875, the General had his headquar- 
ters on Olive street, St. Louis, having removed from Washing- 
ton on account of some disagreement with General Belknap, 
then Secretary of War. 

I called at the General's office one morning to buy a copy of 
his " Memoirs," that had just been issued from the press of 
Appleton & Co., of New York. A pile of the books lay on 
his desk. I expressed my desire to purchase the two volumes, 
and asked him to put his name on the fly leaf He immedi- 
ately picked up his pen and wrote the following phrases : 

Inscribed to my friend and fellow soldier, Lieut. Col. John A. 
Joyce, who bears an honorable wound received at Kennesaw. 

With the compliments and best wishes of— 

W. T. Sherman, General. 

St. Louis, Mo.,y««<?24, 1875. 

I shook hands with the General, passed through the office, 
lingered a few moments to chat with his stafl" — the genial and 
handsome Audenried, the brave and heroic Tourtelott, -and the 
gallant Whipple. 

More than eight years afterward, when the General had retired 
from the Army, I sent him a copy of my book, "A Checkered 
Life," and received from him the following letter : 

912 Garrison Avenue, St. Louis, Mo. 

Col. John A. Joyce, Georgetown, D. C. : 

1 thank you for remembering us in the distribution of your most 
interesting volume, entitled "A Checkered Life." So far as the 
military events therein described, which have fallen within the span 
of my personal observation, they are wonderfully accurate. Your 
poetic flights and fancies are not in my line, but they surely give 
great interest to your book. 

As you know, I have always wished you well and all the happi- 
ness possible in life, to which end the respect of your neighbors and 
acquaintances is a large factor. 

I am now out of public office and can look with philosophic com- 
posure on the great amphitheater of life, ready to laugh with the 
audience or to cry in sympathy with the wronged and afflicted. 
Yours, sincerely, W. T. Sherman. 



46 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

GEN. JOHN M. SCHOFIELD. 

Gen. John M. Schofield was born in Chautauqua County, 
N. Y., September 29, 1831, and graduated from West Point in 
the class of 1853, being assigned to the artillery. 

In May, 1861, just after the fire on Fort Sumter, he became 
chief of General Lyon's staff and operated through the early 
fights for freedom in Missouri and distinguished himself at the 
battle of Wilson's Creek, wearing a medal of honor for special 
gallantry. 

General Schofield commanded the Department of the Ohio 
throughout the year 1864 and rendered valuable service to 
General Sherman in his campaign against Gen. Joseph E. John- 
ston through the swollen waters and rugged mountain passes 
of Tennessee and Georgia. 

I was introduced to him personally by Gen. J. D. Cox, my 
division commander, at the battle of Resaca and noticed his 
coolness and persistency down to the 27th of June at Kennesaw 
Mountain, where I received my discharge from the United States 
service. The Confederates, no doubt, fully intended to make me 
an angel, but through some inscrutable Providence I have been 
left over to write poetry for the^ edification of a suffering nation ! 

General Schofield fought the battle of Franklin, Tenn., on No- 
vember 30, 1864, one of the bloodiest fights of the war for the 
number engaged in action. The Confederate general, John B. 
Hood, whom I knew in boyhood at Mount Sterling, Ky., opposed 
Schofield, and, while he fought desperately for his cause, suf- 
fered a terrible defeat, losing 1,750 killed, 3,800 wounded, and 
700 prisoners, while the entire loss of the Union Army in killed, 
wounded, and missing was only 2,300 ! Soldiers alone can 
understand this great defeat and victory. 

General Schofield is a well-rounded man, very firm, but kind 
to those who do their duty, and while he may not rank with Grant, 
Sherman, and Sheridan, he has convinced his grateful country 
that he is large enough to wear the shoulder-straps of a Lieuten- 
ant General and will wear them with dignity and unsullied honor. 



CHAPTER VI. 



GRANT. 

On the corner of Thirty-second and U streets, West Wash- 
ington, D. C, four blocks west of Oak Hill Cemetery, stands a 
large double brick mansion on the top of a hill 250 feet above 
the level of the Potomac. Two acres and a quarter of land 
belong to the place, and the house sits amid cedars, pines, ma- 
ples, oaks, vines, flowers, and shrubbery, where the breeze of 
summer and keen blasts of winter play hide and seek and birds 
of rare plumage sail and sing. Here I have lived for twenty 
years. 

Colonel Scott, of South Carolina, built the house, but when 
the late war began he and his family went South and left the 
property in the hands of Josiah Dent, late Commissioner of the 
District of Columbia. In 1863 and 1864 the house became the 
headquarters of General Halleck. When he retired from the 
command of the Army General Grant came East, with his fam- 
ily and. staff took possession of the mansion, while the General 
was winding up the rebellion. 

Looking south through the sunlit atmosphere twenty miles 
away, you behold one of the most beautiful scenes around Wash- 
ington. Far to the right can be seen the rolling hills of the Old 
Dominion and the Chain Bridge, capped with the variegated 
colors of spring or autumnal hue, stretching away toward Lees- 
burg and the sparkling waters of the Shenandoah. To the 
front you behold Fort Meyer, Arlington, Fort Runyon, and the 
famous Long Bridge spanning the Potomac, then on to Alex- 
andria, Fort Foote, Fort Washington, to the tall hilltops of 
Mount Vernon To the left is Washington, stretching away in 
artificial and natural beauty, with the great white Monument and 
the Capitol shining in the golden sunlight of departing day. 

(47) 



48 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

I first met General Grant at the battle of Shiloh in the pres- 
ence of Generals Buell, Sherman, and Rawlings. I was at the 
time a lieutenant, and was introduced by my colonel, L. B. 
Grigsby. Grant was then in the flush of manhood, and as the 
sun struggled through the towering tree tops of that batdefield, 
Monday morning, the General ordered an advance to regain the 
ground and victory lost the previous day. 

As Grant sat on his horse with hopeful, compressed lips, and 
sphynx-like countenance, he brought to my historic mind Alex- 
ander at the Indus, Caesar at the Rubicon, or Napoleon at 
Waterloo. The world since then has been filled with his fame. 
In after years I knew him well during his political career. 

One of the most interesting social scenes I ever participated 
in was at the home of General Harney, in St. Louis, during the 
Presidential campaign of 1872. President Grant and family, 
with General O. E. Babcock, his intelligent private secretary, 
and his valet Jerry visited St. Louis during the campaign and 
were entertained by William H. Benton, John F. Long, General 
Harney, and others. 

One evening a fifty-plate feast was given by General Harney 
in honor of the President. I was present on the occasion, and 
at the conclusion of the banquet, about 1 1 o'clock, when the 
guests had retired to their homes, I was asked by Babcock to 
walk in the smoking room and wait awhile. 

Soon after. General Grant, with General Harney, Judge Treat, 
Governor Reynolds, George Fishback, Fred Grant, and Bab- 
cock put in an appearance and took seats. The cigars were 
passed around, most of the guests partaking of the fragrant 
Havanas. The dinner had been greatly enjoyed and satisfac- 
tion seemed to sit on each countenance. A flood of old war 
memories began to run from " Long Knife," as Harney was 
called by the Indians. He was the hero of five wars — Florida, 
Creek, Black Hawk, Mexican, and Civil. He described many 
of the desperate scenes encountered, and thrilled us with patri- 
otism and admiration, and wound up with the request that 




Genl. U. S. Grant. 



GRANT. 49 

General Grant would tell us something about himself at Vicks- 
burg, Donelson, Shiloh, the Wilderness, and Appomattox. 

It was then nearly 12 o'clock. Grant swung back in his easy 
chair, crossed his legs, puffed his cigar and, through circles of 
smoke that hung about his brow, discoursed about his military 
career for nearly two hours. He spoke of the trials and scenes 
of early life, his resignation from the Army, the personal hard- 
ships he encountered after marriage, his search about St. Louis 
for employment, his daily disappointments, clerking in the leather 
store at Galena with his brother Orville, and, taking the talk all 
in all, I never heard a more fluent or interesting reminiscence. 
He spoke of his capture of Fort Donelson and the surrender of 
Buckner, stating that one of the impelling motives for demand- 
ing an immediate and unconditional surrender was the fear that 
General Halleck might do something to change his plans before 
the victory in sight could be scored. I could see that his love 
for Halleck was not as close knit as that between Damon and 
Pythias. 

Speaking of Sherman's protest against his plans for the 
assault on Vicksburg, he laughingly remarked that " Tecump " 
did not know all the details ; and after the place was captured, 
he called Sherman to his tent, handed him the written protest 
that he forgot (?) to forward to the War Department. The two 
friends had a good laugh over the incident and closed their 
social chat with a bumper from an old canteen to the surrender 
of proud Pemberton. 

I never met a man with a higher sense of duty than General 
Grant. His mind acted on direct lines and no amount of verbal 
sophistry could twist him from a purpose once formed. He 
was eminently self-reliant, and no storm clouds of misfortune 
could shadow his mind or chill the intensity of his determina- 
tion. 

When others hesitated, he acted. When trembling mortals 
fled, he stood like a rock, and when his bravest generals gave 
up the fight he moved forward to victory. 



50 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Before engaging in battle or campaign he calculated all the 
strength of the enemy and studied the details of the movements 
he proposed on the chess board of war, acquainting himself 
particularly with the topography of the contemplated battlefield, 
and parceling out to each of his generals the work they must 
do. When he moved against General Lee across the Rapidan 
and on through the dark entanglements of the Wilderness he 
made no calculation for retreat, but knew and believed in his 
own mind that victory would perch on his banner as sure as the 
sun and stars shone in the heavens. He had the living tools to 
batter down the walls of the Confederacy, and he used them 
with a direct and desperate persistency until the fabric of the 
rebellion fell forever into the bloody waters of the Appomattox. 

A thousand years of glory- 
Shall immortalize his fame 

With a tale in song and storj'- 
To keep green his hallowed name: 

How he saved a lasting Temple, 
So complete in every plan, 

For justice, truth, and mercy 
And the liberty of man! 



CHAPTER VII. 



ROSCOE CONKLING. 

RoscoE CoNKLiNG was an imperious character. His nature 
was commanding and the midgets of mankind that he managed 
for so many years were only rounds in the ladder of his lordly 
ambition. Policy and pelf found no place in the calendar of his 
philosophy, while principle was the guiding star of his life and 
truth the touchstone of his soul. 

His manly mien, sonorous voice, flashing eye, graceful gestic- 
ulation, and satirical tongue cut like a scalping knife, beat back his 
enemy in forensic debate like the vipers of the Furies, hissing 
defiance and challenge to combat. 

Cowards might compromise for cash and power, but he held 
in supreme contempt and scorn the man who would not fulfil his 
pledge and stand out in the broad sunlight of public opinion. 
Vacillation and subterfuge found no anchorage in the harbor of 
his heart. Like Napoleon at the bridge of Lodi he dismounted 
in desperate action, grasped the flag of his party, and dashed 
to the front through the bullets of the foe, securing victory from 
the jaws of defeat. 

Senator William B. Allison, of Iowa, in whose office I studied 
law, introduced me to Mr. Conkling in the winter of 1866, when 
each occupied seats in the House of Representatives. From 
that time until death closed his illustrious career I knew the 
great leader of the Empire State. 

Politicians follow the trend of public opinion and mould it for 
their own use. Conkling led it for the glory of a Nation, sway- 
ing the multitude by his matchless eloquence. They were pol- 
itic and diplomatic. He was sincere, sarcastic, and lofty. They 
gave their word and smile to the many ; he gave his heart to 

(51) 



52 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

the few. While the former had cheering, impulsive followers, 
he had admiring worshipers. Others came down from their 
place of power to mingle with the rushing crowd, laughing with 
and throwing arms around controlling constituents. Conkling 
stood upon an exalted pedestal like the oracle at Memnon, gaz- 
ing proudly at the passing throng, expecting genuflections and 
worship, at long range, from the multitude of mediocrity that 
listened to and absorbed the decrees that fell from his trenchant 
tongue. He possessed the bravery of Coriolanus, the beauty of 
Alcibiades, and the wisdom of Pericles. He had the lashing 
sarcasm of Danton, the sardonic sneer of Swift, and the senten- 
tious sentences of Mirabeau, rising above the petty politicians 
of the hour and soaring into the realm of statesmanship like an 
Alpine eagle above the vulture of the valley ! 

Roscoe Conkling was born at Albany, N. Y., on the 29th of 
October, 1829. His progrenitors were from Nottinghamshire, 
England. The father of Roscoe was born at Amaganset, N. Y., 
graduated at Union College, became district attorney, member 
of Congress and for twenty-seven years sat on the United States 
district bench for New York. 

The mother of Roscoe was related to the late Chief Justice 
Cockburn, of Great Britain ; was a noted heiress, beauty, and in 
youth was called " the belle of the Mohawk vale," the original 
of the celebrated sentimental song. Thus may be seen that 
Roscoe Conkling inherited wisdom and beauty. 

When Conkling was nine years of age his parents removed 
to Auburn, the home of the celebrated statesman, William H. 
Seward, who was an intimate friend of Judge Conkling. For 
three years Roscoe went to the town school and was noted for 
his stalwart body and mind, a lusty, rollicking, proud boy, who 
kicked over many senile rules, yet invariably knew his lessons, 
being endowed with a marvelous memory. 

In 1 842 he was placed in the classic academy of Prof. Clarke, 
of New York City, and for nearly four years pursued his varied 
studies, paying particular attention to history, poetry, and ora- 



CONKLING. 53 

tory. In 1846, when only seventeen years of age, the family 
removed to Utica, where Roscoe was entered as a student in the 
office of Spencer and Kernan, one of the most prominent law 
firms in the Empire State. He received his license to practice 
before he was of age, and was appointed district attorney of 
Oneida County by Governor Hamilton Fish. A few years later 
he was elected mayor of Utica over a noted Democrat, making 
a brilliant canvass. He was employed in prominent criminal 
and civil cases, and often triumphed over his legal tutors. In 
November, 1859, he was nominated and elected to Congress as 
a Republican, and took his seat on the 5th of December. 

Thad. Stevens, Morrill, Burlingame, Grow, Winter Davis, 
Sherman, and Corwin were his legislative partisans, while Pen- 
dleton, Vallandingham, Cox, Holman, Barksdale, of Mississippi ; 
Pugh, of Alabama, and Reagan, of Texas, were his oppo- 
nents ; yet not one of this list, considering his years of twenty- 
nine, could lay claim to being his superior in courage or mag- 
netic eloquence. Conkling was re-elected to Congress by a 
majority of 3,563. 

On the last day of February, 1861, the House of Represent- 
atives passed an amendment to the Constitution guaranteeing 
perpetuity to slavery, and many Republicans through fear or to 
placate the slave oligarchy voted to chain freedom to the chariot 
wheels of slavery. A Spartan band, however, voted an emphatic 
** No ! " and among them we find Thaddeus Stevens, Tom Cor- 
win, Owen Lovejoy, and Roscoe Conkling. 

The Morrill tariff act was passed two days afterward, provid- 
ing for war taxes and loans and particularly declaring that the 
Republic is a Nation, not a league, and that it is supreme within 
its own constitutional sphere. 

On the 1 2th of April Fort Sumter was fired upon, and the 
echo of the shot was heard around the world, sounding the 
death knell of slavery and State rights, although at the expense 
of two millions of men. 

In one of Conkling's early war speeches he uttered the fol- 



54 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

lowing patriotic sentiment : *' For one I am for the Union and 
the Government unconditionally. Come what may I would 
rather see the rebel cities smoke; I would rather see New 
Orleans the bed of a lake where fishes would swim ; I would 
rather see the seats of treason unpeopled from the Potomac to 
the Gulf than that one star should be blotted from the flag of 
our fathers or one stripe torn from its azure folds ! " 

The Ninety-seventh Regiment, New York Infantry Volun- 
teers, or the *' Conkling Rifles," commanded by Col. Charles 
Wheelock, was among the first to respond to the call of the 
Government for troops to put down the rebellion. Mr. Conk- 
ling took a great interest in this regiment, as it was raised from 
the stout yeomanry of Oneida county. On its departure toi 
the front he presented the regiment with a stand of colors that 
had been embroidered and fashioned by his patriotic wife, who 
was the intellectual sister of Horatio Seymour, the standard 
bearer of Northern Democracy. 

The fall and winter of 1862 was a terrible time for the admin- 
istration of President Lincoln, the Congressional elections in 
many districts going Democratic, through the persistent howl of 
" Copperheads," " Doughfaces," and " Knights of the Golden 
Circle," people who declared that the war was a failure and 
demanded peace at any price. But Lincoln met the emergency, 
and in the face of political defeat issued his immortal proclama- 
tion, the keystone to the arch of liberty, calling for millions of 
bondsmen from the gloom of slavery to the God given sunlight 
of freedom. 

In this election Conkling was defeated by 98 votes in a total 
of 19,788 by his old law preceptor, Francis Keman ; and 
Horatio Seymour, his brother-in-law, was elected Governor of 
New York. 

For the ensuing two years Conkling practiced law with 
eminent success, defeating his most prominent opponents in the 
criminal and civil courts. In the November election of 1864 
he was sent back to Congress with a majority of 1,150 votes. 



CONK LING. 



55 



Lincoln, too, was triumphantly elected over McClellan and his 
mongrel supporters. 

In May, 1865, Mr. Conkling was employed by Secretary 
Stanton to assist the Judge Advocate General of the Army in 
prosecuting Assistant Provost Marshal General Haddock of the 
western district of New York, at Elmira, charged with a gigantic 
conspiracy to defraud the Government out of bounties given to 
substitutes in the Army. More than a half million of dollars 
was divided by corrupt lawyers, township agents, county judges, 
and bounty jumpers. 

Mr. Conkling entered the trial as special counsel, and con- 
vinced many people that officers high in authority in the pro- 
vost marshal's office at Washington, as well as prominent poli- 
ticians, were linked with Haddock and his conspirators. Judge 
Smith, of Oneida County, became counsel for his friend Had- 
dock, but when he volunteered to take the stand as a witness 
in behalf of his client the judge literally and abjectly broke 
down. Conkling proved from Smith's receipts and orders that 
he accepted bribes while holding the office of county judge. 
The closing speech of Conkling cut to the bone and drew blood 
with every sentence. 

The court marshal rendered a verdict that Major Haddock 
be cashiered, pay a fine of $10,000, and be imprisoned for five 
years. This sentence was carried out by order of Secretary 
Edwin M. Stanton, the unrelenting Carnot of the late war, whom 
praise could not inflate or censure depress, a man who soared 
over difficulties like an eagle swooping over mountain crags. 

In November, 1866, Conkling was re-elected to Congress by 
an increased majority, and for the succeeding two years took 
active part in the enactment of reconstruction laws, made neces- 
sary by the status of the Southern States at the close of the 
rebellion. He took a very active part in the proceedings for 
the impeachment of Andrew Johnson, and was a staunch lieu- 
tenant to Mr. Thaddeus Stevens, the great radical leader from 
Pennsylvania. 



56 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

At the beginning of the war Johnson, like Parson Brownlow, 
was compelled to leave Tennessee and become fugitives, be- 
cause of their loyalty to the Union. Johnson then said, and I 
heard his speech in Kentucky, that " treason must be made 
odious and traitors punished," but in the whirligig of time he 
consorted with those he reviled and rebuked the Union people 
who made it possible for him to become President by the un- 
fortunate assassination of the immortal Lincoln. Parson Brown- 
low kept his faith to the last, defying the censure of neighbors, 
the isolation of exile and the torture of imprisonment ; a man 
of heroic and indomitable principle, that no earthly influence 
could subdue or twist from the moorings of his God given faith ! 

The impress of Conkling's radical mind can be found in the 
thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth amendments to the Consti- 
tution and the laws enacted for their supremacy. He served 
on the most important committees of the House and Senate. 
The slave and freedman found in him an uncompromising 
champion, and his hand was always extended to prostrate 
humanity. 

Ingersoll in his Albany eulogy of Conkling expresses the 
ideal of the statesman. " We rise by raising others and he who 
stoops above the fallen stands erect ! " 

Lincoln, Grant, Chase, Stevens, Corwin, and Stanton had the 
highest respect for the New York statesman, and put him for- 
ward in the most desperate emergencies, knowing that he was 
equal to any ordeal of brain or body. Like a gladiator in the 
Roman arena he stood erect, bared his arm and breast to man 
or beast, and with javelin or battle axe conquored his foe and 
commanded the shouts of the multitude. 

Conkling took his seat in the Senate March 4, 1867, and 
resigned the same on the 14th of May, 1881, after fourteen 
years of illustrious service. His speeches on the hustings, in 
the Senate, and at conventions of his party, are masterpieces of 
convincing logic. When Conkling was announced for a set 
speech in the Senate every seat was filled and the steps in the 




ROSCOE CONKLING, U. S. S. 



CONKLING. 57 

aisles were crowded. He dressed in clean cut style, and his 
commanding presence, with Hyperion locks, bore the stamp of 
an Apollo, and hurled at his opponent the lofty and sarcastic 
logic of Cicero or Grattan. He was the peer of Thurman, 
Sumner, Lamar, Morton, Gordon and Hill, and often crossed 
intellectual swords to the utter discomfiture of these noted men. 
I heard him in the " French Arms " debate and " San Domingo" 
question, and such a lashing inflicted on the tender backs of 
Sumner and Schurz I never witnessed before. Although these 
Senators were famous masters of language and logic, they utterly 
wilted and shivered under the political castigation inflicted by 
the administration Senator from New York. General Grant 
had in Conkling a lofty and dignified champion worthy the 
hero of Appomattox, and his speech in nominating Grant for a 
third term at Chicago will long be remembered by the 306 that 
followed in his lead as well as those who were fortunate enoueh 
to hear the great orator from the Empire State. 

The Electoral Commission was evolved and consummated by 
the brain and energy of Roscoe Conkling, and I doubt very 
much if Rutherford B. Hayes would ever have been President 
had not the fine "Italian" hand of the New York statesman 
taken part in the compromise that continued Mr. Tilden in the 
shades of private life. It was the first time in our Republic that 
the constitutional machinery for the inauguration of a President 
was suspended by a political enactment. Let us hope it may 
be the last. 

Roscoe ConkHng refused the position of Chief Justice of the 
United States, tendered by his faithful and enduring friend 
President Grant, preferring to legislate for a Nation rather than 
sit for life on velvet cushions, the ninth part of a judicial con- 
clave. Patrick Henry, of Virginia, refused the same office from 
the hands of President Washington ; and these two illustrious 
orators were the only Americans that cast aside one of the 
highest offices on earth. However, they were greater than the 
office, and showed it by their declination ! 



58 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

President Garfield would not have carried the State of New 
York in 1880 had not General Grant and Roscoe Conkling taken 
the political field in his behalf, and the loss of New York would 
have been the loss of the Nation. Conkling, at the written in- 
vitation of Garfield, visited him at Mentor during the Presi- 
dential campaign and received the most exact and seemingly- 
sincere thanks for his support. In meeting the New York 
Senator, in the presence of General Grant, Garfield rushed out 
bareheaded from his home and exclaimed : 

" Conkling, you have saved me ! Whatever man can do, 
that will I do for you ! " And he did it, by turning General 
Merritt out of the New York custom-house and putting in Gen- 
eral Robertson, the enemy of Mr. Conkling. Punica fides! 

It matters little now as to who was right or who was wrong 
in the internal war between contending Republican factions. 
The " Stalwart " and the "Half-breed" have long since slept 
beneath the sod, and over their illustrious ashes let us exclaim 
witl\ the ancients, nil de mortius nisi bonum. 

The following personal reminiscences clustering around Mr. 
Conkling may not be uninteresting to the reader, being related 
for the first *;ime : 

The Presidential campaign of Grant in 1872 was a memor- 
able one. Greeley had been nominated by the Democratic 
party and a few so-called Liberals who had been disappointed 
in securing office. The mock marriage of these incongruous 
elements begot the contempt and scorn of the Nation and suf- 
fered an ignominious defeat. 

During this campaign — I think the first week in August — I 
had an occasion to test the imperial bluff" of Conkling and the 
firm friendship of Grant. At this time I was connected with 
the Internal Revenue Department of the Government, with 
headquarters at St. Louis. 

The supervising officers of the internal revenue had been cut 
down by law from twenty-five to ten, commencing July i, 1872. 
There was a great political and personal scramble as to who 



CONKLING. 59 

should be retained. The supervisor for the district of Missouri, 
comprising five Western States, to the astonishment of his 
political friends, was superseded by a man from North Carolina. 
I was at the time up to my neck in politics and desired that the 
official status in Missouri should be continued, at least until after 
the election in November. To this end I secured urgent letters 
to General Grant from ex-Senator John B. Henderson, Henry 
T. Blow, and Chester H. Krum, the United States district 
attorney. I started immediately for Washington to see the 
President, but when I arrived I found that he had a few days 
before gone with a select party to the Thousand Islands and 
would stop for a few days at Utica to visit Mr. Conkling. 

Before leaving Washington I called on General Babcock, the 
President's secretary, at the White House, on Internal Revenue 
Commissioner Douglass, and Mr. Bout^vell, the Secretary of the 
Treasur}', to see if the supervisor for the Missouri district could 
not be reinstated, but received no encouragement. In fact, the 
Secretary told me that the displacement of the supervisor was 
irrevocable. That August evening I took the fast train for New 
York and Utica, arriving at the latter place the same day Presi- 
dent Grant visited Mr. Conkling. About 9 o'clock the next 
morning I strolled from Baggs' Hotel up Gennessee street to 
the mansion of the Senator. I was ushered into the parlor by 
a servant, sent my card to President Grant, and after waiting 
about ten minutes General Horace Porter, the President's pri- 
vate secretary, put in an appearance,. greeted me cordially, took 
a seat and said that the President and family had not come down 
to breakfast, but if I had any communication to make he would 
convey it, saying at the same time that immediately after break- 
fast the President and party, with Mr. Conkling, Governor Sey- 
mour, and friends were to take a coaching trip to Trenton Falls, 
and in the evening there was to be a grand reception at Senator 
Conkling's home for the people of Utica. He also said that it 
would be impossible to see the President on any official business. 
I intimated to General Porter that I wished to see the President 



6o JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

relative to the recent change in the supervisor's office. I could 
see from his countenance that he knew all about the matter and 
was doing the diplomatic to keep me from communicating in 
person with General Grant. However, I never yet consented 
to take a bluff from doorkeepers, ante-room agents, or private 
secretaries of men in public power, always making it a point to 
see and consult with the head, instead of hanging around the 
heels of lordly subordinates, who imagine that they carry the 
heart and conscience of their superiors in the hollow ot their 
head and hand ! 

Bowing myself out of Mn Conkling's parlor, I went back to 
Baggs' Hotel, determined to wait until the Presidential party 
returned that evening, and make another trial to see General 
Grant and present the three letters I had from his intimate 
friends in St. Louis. 

With converging streams of people, at twilight, I took my 
way to the spacious grounds and mansion of Mr. Conkling, 
grandly illuminated by Chinese lanterns and decorated with 
flags and bunting in honor of the Chief Magistrate of the Nation. 
I arrived at the front steps just as the two coaches of the Presi- 
dential party drew up to deliver the guests, about a dozen 
people. A squad of police were present to keep the crowd 
from pressing on the noted visitors. The whole party passed 
up the steps, with Mr. Conkhng bringing up the rear. I followed 
immediately after, the officer on guard, no doubt, thinking I was 
one of the guests. The ladies went into the broad hall, turned 
to the left to lay off their wraps, and the gentiemen filed to the 
right with General Grant in the lead. 

Just as I was about to cross the threshold Senator Conkling 
turned about, and drawing himself up with an air that would 
have done Chesterfield and Cardinal Richelieu great credit, ex- 
claimed : "Ah, Colonel, how are you ? " " Very well. Senator," 
I replied. " Colonel, the President is to receive the people of 
Utica in an hour or so. I trust he may not be bothered with 



CONKLING. - 6 1 

any official matters, as he is on a summer jaunt for health and 
pleasure." 

" Senator, I have come more than a thousand miles to see 
the President, and have three important letters from his intimate 
friends in St. Louis to deliver to him in person. I trust you 
may permit me, at least, to pay my respects to the President of 
the United States while receiving the hospitality of yourself and 
friends, and I shall not refer to any official business unless the 
General first speaks of it himself." 

"Ah, well, walk in, sir ! " I passed into the double parlor, 
when Mr. Conkling disappeared, and soon after the President 
came forward, sHook hands, bade me " good evening," and at 
once said : " Colonel, regarding that supervisor matter, I tried 
to retain your friend, but the pressure was so great that the 
Secretary of the Treasury had to put Cobb or Emory in his 
place." 

" General, I promised Senator Conkling that I would not men- 
tion any official matter to you unless you spoke of it first. Now, 
here are three letters from your personal friends in St. Louis 
that I wish you would read, after which I'll be satisfied at your 
conclusion." He walked into the library, sat down at a desk, 
and read the letters. That of District Attorney Krum he read 
carefully, turned it over, and on the back of the same in his 
own handwriting ordered Secretary Boutwell to reinstate my 
political and official friend. The letter and indorsement are in 
existence today, a convincing proof to all that one should never 
be turned aside by subordinate difficulties, but press on to the 
fountain-head until absolute defeat or victory prevails. 

I bade the General goodbye, shook hands, and took my de- 
parture for Washington, saw the Secretary, and carried back to 
the West the commission of the supervisor. 

An incident showing the testy integrity of Senator Conkling 
came under my personal notice in the winter of 1 874. Dropping 
into Willard's one evening to view the passing throng, I encoun- 
tered Judge G., of Kentucky, who had a pending war claim of 



62 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

$100,000 that had been shuttlecocked about for several years. 
It had passed the House of Representatives and was hanging 
fire on the Senate Calendar. Judge G., who had been my boy- 
hood friend before the war, in Kentucky, asked me to introduce 
him to the New York Senator, saying that if he would make a 
short speech when the claim was called up, payment of his just 
debt for material furnished the Government would be speedily 
secured. 

I consented reluctandy to introduce him to Mr. Conkling, 
knowing his abhorrence against the promiscuous war claims 
that were constantly coming up from the South. I told the old 
Judge on our way to the Senator's rooms that the New York 
statesman was a very proud and peculiar man, with the highest 
sense of personal honor, and that he must be handled very gin- 
gerly and convinced that the claim was thoroughly honest, else 
our mission would be a failure. Arriving at our destination, we 
were ushered into a parlor with bed-room in the rear, and I 
expressed the desire to see the Senator, giving my name and 
that of the Judge to the servant. The Senator soon appeared. 
I introduced Judge G., and all took seats, Mr. Conkling at his 
writing desk. The usual compliments of the evening were 
passed, and after a brief pause Judge G., a fine old confidential 
Kentuckian of the Bardwell Slote type, related his trials and 
tribulations, expense, and worry in trying to have the Govern- 
ment pay for horses, mules, cattle, forage, and wood that had 
been taken from him during the war, saying that the claim was 
then on the Senate Calendar, and if the Senator would speak 
but a few words in its favor he felt success would be certain, 
rounding up his remarks with the offer that if the Senator would 
do this he would pay him as a lawyer a fee of $10,000 ! If you 
had hit Conkling with a brick-bat between the eyes I don't think 
it would have flushed his face or stunned his body more than 
the last words of the Judge. 

" Sir," said Conkling, standing to his full height, " an honest 
claim that needs a ten-thousand-dollar lawyer to secure its 



CONKLING. 63 

passage through Congress must be a very bad one ! I am busy- 
now ! You will excuse me ! Good evening ! " 

The old Judge arose, staggered from the room pale as a Peer- 
less potato, and I felt as if a section of a brick house had fallen 
on my devoted head. We soon found ourselves on the pave- 
ment, and after walking a block in silence I broke the strain by 
saying, " Judge, you have ruined your case. You might as 
well pack up your grip and wander back to your blue grass 
farm in Bourbon. While Conkling is in Congress you will never 
get that claim through." " Well, John, I always had a kind of 
notion that I was a d — n fool, but now I know it. Let us go 
and get a drink of Old Bourbon, and I will then take the first 
train for ' Old Kaintuck ' and see the old woman and the girls 
once more before I die ! " 

A few days after this episode I was in the Marble Room of the 
Senate waiting for one of the Solons, when who should appear 
with his lordly stride but Conkling. We shook hands. He 
said : "Ah, Colonel, what is that gentleman's name that you 
introduced to me the other night ? " I repeated his name, the 
Senator wrote it down on a card, made a dignified bow, and 
passed on to an alcove by the window, where a stately lady, the 
daughter of a former governor awaited his presence. 

That $100,000 claim is still pending in Congress, and the 
poverty-stricken heirs are yet trying to get paid for material fur- 
nished the Government by their broken-hearted father, who 
ruined an honest case by slopping over with his tongue ! 

It is not generally known that Roscoe Conkling was a poet, 
perhaps not in the rhythmic sense, but in that lofty soaring of 
the soul above the sordid creatures of the vulgar valley, who 
wriggle out their little day and then sink beneath the clods they 
cultivate. He was no stickler for creeds, but measured mankind 
for their energy, loyalty, and truth. Life and death he viewed 
with philosophic composure and felt in his imperial nature the 
promptings of an eternal Omnipotence. From boyhood he 
memorized the rarest gems of prose and poetic literature, and 



64 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

in many of his forensic triumphs we may trace the pathetic or 
patriotic ideals of illustrious orators and poets. His mind was 
imbued with what it fed upon, and the intensity of his thought 
and manner inspired the listener with spontaneous rapture. 

In the spring of 1880 I called at the rooms of Mr. Conkling 
with Dr. Elwood E. Thorne, Past Grand Master of Masons of 
New York, who wished to talk with his Senator upon the pend- 
ing question of a protective tariff for sugar, the Doctor being 
an attorney for the sugar syndicate. ■ 

Just at the hour when twilight merges into night and stars and 
planets peep from out their mysterious realm, we were ushered 
into the presence of the Senator. We sat near the window, look- 
ing out on Fifteenth street at the hurrying throng wending their 
way to home, love, or despair. The Senator coincided with 
Thorne on the general principle of protection, but was desirous 
that sugar should be made as cheap as possible for the benefit 
of the poor, saying that the necessaries of life should be cheap- 
ened to the lowest possible point, while the luxuries, such as 
wines, liquors, malts, tobaccos, silks, satins, velvets, and jewels 
should bear the highest taxes and be paid by those who indulge 
their taste in these commodities. 

At this moment in the Senator's argument flashes of light- 
ning and rumbling thunder, accompanied by whistling wind and 
rattling rain, shook the building and caused Thorne and myself 
to pitch back from the window at the sudden outburst of the 
storm. Conkling kept his position like a rock, gazing at the 
scene with looks of admiration, like another Ajax on the heights 
of Olympus defying the lightning. Before we had time to make 
an}^ remark on the sudden outburst of nature, he deliberately 
arose, struck a theatrical attitude, waved his right hand, and 
exclaimed in sonorous tones : 

** God moves in a mysterious way 
His wonders to perform, 
He plants His footsteps in the sea 
And rides upon the storm ! " 



CONKLING. 65 

And then, to exemplify the Uttleness of Hfe and the evanes- 
cent joys of mortal midgets, he exclaimed : 

" Life is a dew drop, pendant on a flower; 
A sunbeam, glinting o'er a string of pearls; 
A vision of the future dimly seen; 
A little snowflake on a turbid stream; 
A maddening rush o'er a dread cataract, 
An atom borne on the breeze of time, 
Pinioned with hope for immortality ! " 

Thorne and myself clapped our hands with impulsive enthu- 
siasm, forgetting the storm without while under the magic spell 
and poetic flights of the eloquent Senator. 

Roscoe Conkling was a master of alliteration, euphony, synthe- 
sis, and repartee. More monosyllables are found in his orations, 
for their length, than in those of any American orator. His verbs 
and nouns were short, his adjectives and adverbs caustic, and 
his conjunctions scarce. He sent his thought through the mind 
of the listener swift as an arrow from the quiver of Diana. Dic- 
tion was his delight, poetry his pleasure, and right his religion. 

Today the bronze statues of Roscoe Conkling and his famous 
friend, William H. Seward, adorn the walks of Madison Square, 
and so long as streams of people from domestic or foreign lands 
shall roll up or down Broadway or the rocky foundation of 
Manhattan Island shall endure, so long shall the memory of 
these illustrious Americans shine out with Liberty enlightening 
the world by her beauty on the bounding bay. 

Their names shall live when marble, bronze, and bust 
Have crumbled into cold and silent dust. 
And Freedom, with her longest, latest breath, 
Shall sing their glory o'er a deathless death ! 



CHAPTER VIII. 



GEN. F. E. SPINNER. 

Ellicott, the sculptor, has finished the Hfe-sized statue of 
Gen. F. E. Spinner, late Treasurer of the United States. It is 
cast in bronze and soon it will appear in front of the Treasury- 
Department. 

The statue is heroic, standing to the observer six feet, with a 
broad-brimmed hat, a corrugated brow, a crumpled cloak, wrin- 
kled pants, firm foot and boot ; and altogether, the best civilian 
statue in the District of Columbia. 

It is well and just that the people of the United States should 
remember the cashier of the Republic. 

Gen. Francis Elias Spinner, late Treasurer of the United 
States, was born in the town of Mohawk, Herkimer County, 
N. Y., January 21, 1802. His father, Peter, was born in Baden, 
Germany, January 18, 1768, emigrated to the United States in 
1 80 1, and died May 27, 1848, while minister of the Lutheran 
Church at Herkimer, eighty years of age. Like Luther, the 
elder Spinner had been a Catholic priest, but became a Protest- 
ant. He married a devotee of a nunnery and soon after came 
to the great Republic, where he continued his sacerdotal voca- 
tion until his death. 

The son, Francis, was noted in his youth for pugnacity, gen- 
erosity, and blunt honesty, characteristics that never forsook 
him. At an early age he was apprenticed to a confectioner, and 
afterward to a saddler, learning these trades to a partial degree, 
but soon his restless spirit longed for the excitement of political 
life, when he was appointed deputy sheriff" and afterward elected 
sheriff of his county. 

He was also major general of the New York State militia, and 
(66) 



SPINNER. 67 

became cashier and president of a commercial bank. For four 
years he was deputy naval officer of the port of New York, and 
in 1854 he was elected to Congress as an anti-slavery Democrat, 
and after the Republican party was formed he represented that 
organization in Congress until the 3d of March, 1861, when he 
was requested by Secretary Chase and President Lincoln to 
become Treasurer of the United States, which position he held 
for fourteen years. 

During the four years of the rebellion there was not an officer 
of the civil service of the Government that performed more act- 
ive or important work than General Spinner. His strange and 
celebrated signature, first written on the printed sheets of green- 
backs, was universally commented upon, and to the ordinary 
citizen who held the notes the name of the Treasurer was a 
puzzle. He adopted this cramped and peculiar signature, how- 
ever, as he told me, for the purpose of foiling counterfeiters and 
making it difficult to imitate the original. 

During the rapid and accumulating events of the spring, sum- 
mer, and fall of 1861 and 1862 the greenback printing presses 
of the Government were run to their utmost limit to provide the 
sinews of war for the Army and Navy, and Spinner himself often 
remained at his desk more than twenty hours at a stretch signing 
and sending out the paper bullets that conquered the rebellion. 

The desire of many Government clerks to enlist in the Army 
and Navy and battle for their country almost depleted some of 
the bureaus of their working force, and the Treasurer's office 
was no exception to the rule. To substitute the m6n General 
Spinner naturally thought of the employment of women, know- 
ing that their deft fingers and rapid intuition could compete with, 
if not surpass, men as correct counters of new or old money. 

General Spinner always felt a natural and commendable pride 
in first giving women an opportunity to make their own living 
by Government employment. Hundreds of mothers, wives, 
daughters, and sisters employed today in the various bureaus 
of the Government may well thank '' the old watch-dog of the 



68 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Treasury " for his persistent and faithful adhesion to their inter- 
est ; and each woman now in office should place a leaf, in the 
shape of a five-dollar bill, in the laurel wreath that will soon 
crown his bronze statue in front of the Treasury Department. 

I was intimate with General Spinner and corresponded with 
him up to the time of his death, at Jacksonville, Fla., in Jan- 
uary, 1 89 1. In the summer of 1886 a discussion broke out in 
the newspapers as to who should get the credit for first recom- 
mending women as Government employees and afterward clerks. 
Some friends of Secretary Chase claimed the honor for him, but 
the weight of the witnesses and the actual records proved beyond 
a doubt that Spinner was the real pioneer that blazed the way 
for women to work in official capacity. 

At the time General Spinner was summering at Pablo Beach> 
a seaside resort near Jacksonville, I wrote him regarding the 
discussion and with some acrimony against those who were try- 
ing to filch from him the glory of having first recommended the 
fair sex for Government labor. I have now before me a four- 
page autograph letter, dated August 4, 1886, at Pablo Beach, 
when he was eighty-four years of age ; and in which occur these 
phrases relating to his employment of women : " The records of 
the Treasury Department will show that I am right ia every 
case, and my critics wrong. All the appointments of women 
that are claimed to have been made prior to the 9th of October, 
1862, were made on my nomination for places in my then office. 
United States Treasurer. My records and the pay-rolls prove 
this. And then there are living witnesses in the persons of some 
ofthose mentioned still in Washington, one of them Miss Keller." 
This lady is still in office, as well as Miss Libbie Stoner, one of 
the first women employed in the Treasury Department. 

General Spinner was a remarkable man in personal appear- 
ance, and one who attracted attention whenever seen. He stood 
nearly six feet tall, a round, broad, high forehead, slighdy bald, 
with a corrugated countenance, thick, overhanging brows, shad- 
ing a pair of deep-set grayish blue eyes that looked keenly into 



SPINNER. 69 

the motives of men. His voice was full and sonorous, his talk 
witty and direct, and when he was surrounded by social friends 
he was the most companionable of men, and was particularly 
polite and caressing to the fair sex, who were ever flattered by 
his attention. 

He was a prime favorite with Congressmen, and when a Sen- 
ator or Representative during the war and after could not find 
a snug place for his trusted constituent in the Departments, 
Spinner could generally be depended upon to furnish an asylum 
to the friends of his favorite and influential lawmakers. His 
oflicial reports, estimates, and requests were always seconded 
by Chase and Lincoln, and when they came before the Ways 
and Means and Finance Committees they passed muster like a 
crack regiment on dress parade. 

During the impeachment trial of President Andrew Johnson, 
in the fall of 1868, excitement ran very high in the various De- 
partments of the Government among the clerks and their 
superior officers. The executive and legislative branches of the 
Government were arrayed against each other like forest stags 
at bay, and fighting over the Southern reconstruction laws and 
various Presidential vetoes with a vengeance that I have seldom 
seen in political life. "Johnson clubs " were formed in the De- 
partments by subservient policy clerks, who are always found 
to '' crook the pregnant hinges of the knee that thrift might 
follow fawning." Most oflicials took sides for or against im- 
peachment, and " spotters " could be found in every office to 
report those who clung to Congress and favored the official de- 
capitation of the President. Spinner was one of the few Gov- 
ernment officers that did not favor or cringe to the dictates of 
" my policy," and while the impeachment proceedings and ex- 
citement incident thereto were at the highest pitch he wrote a 
personal letter to a Congressional friend severely condemning 
President Johnson and his associates, respectful, of course, but 
firm as his own sterling character. 

During my official residence, in the revenue service, at St. 



yo JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Louis, from 1870 to 1875, I corresponded with the General, 
often sending him some of my newspaper articles, soldier ora- 
tions, and social speeches, and he never failed to reply in the 
heartiest manner. 

In 1875 a contest arose between General Spinner and Secre- 
tary Bristow over some appointments the Secretary of the Treas- 
ury wanted to make against the will and over the head of the 
Treasuier. All former Secretaries of the Treasury had never 
interfered with the appointments made in the Treasurer's office, 
as it was regarded as a great national bank, the Treasurer giving 
a personal bond for $100,000 for the proper care and account 
of the money of the Republic. It was by common consent ad- 
mitted that as the Treasurer was responsible for the cash, he 
should be allowed to select his own counters and cashiers, but 
Bristow sought to thrust some of his political friends into Spin- 
ner's office. The General kicked, and the matter was brought 
to the notice of President Grant by Bristow. Spinner said that 
he would resign unless he was allowed to select the working 
tools of his office, and Bristow insisted that he was the appoint- 
ing power under the law and would have his own way or vacate 
the Treasury Department. 

Grant, being schooled as a disciplinarian and influenced by 
some personal and political friends, sided at the time with the 
Secretary of the Treasury, and Spinner at once resigned the 
office that he had held so long with rare honor to himself and 
great profit to his country. In a few months Grant was forced 
to dismiss Bristow, who brought upon his head the scandal of 
" the whisky ring," that made such a noise in its day. 

The spring before the General retired from office he visited 
his family in Florida for a short vacation from his arduous labors 
as Treasurer, and on his return to the Capital he came back by 
the way of New Orleans, up the Mississippi River, by one of 
the palace steamboats that then plied between the Crescent City 
and St. Louis, and stopped off a few days to see some of his 
subordinate officers and view the sights and growing greatness 



SPINNER. 71 

of the metropolis that aspired to be the future Capital of the 
Republic. 

The most prominent people of St. Louis called on him at the 
Planters' House, where I was then boarding with my family, and 
vied with each other in showing respect and attention to the 
great war Treasurer of the United States. One pleasant, sunny 
afternoon I invited himself, his daughter and adopted daugh- 
ter to take a carriage drive and see the sights of the Mound 
City. 

In the course of the drive we visited the celebrated Shaw's 
garden, one of the rarest botanical gardens in the United States. 

The General and his daughter alighted at the lodge gate, and 
we proceeded to the summer home of Henry Shaw, located at 
one end of the garden, amid rare trees, shrubs, vines, and ferns, 
and beautiful flowers growing in grace and exhaling perfume on 
the wingS of the gentle zephyrs that blew over this earthly 
paradise. 

We sent in our cards, and were ushered into the reception 
room. Soon afterward the sage of the flowers appeared in a 
silk skull cap. Mr. Shaw produced a register of visitors and 
asked the General to give him his celebrated signature, saying, 
laughingly, that some future wanderers might have a fine time 
among his pet flowers, and working out his signature as an auto- 
graphic puzzle. The General replied: "Mr. Shaw, I think it 
has puzzled some of the counterfeiters, and it puzzles a great 
many other people as to how to secure enough of the ' green- 
backs ' with my cramped chirography." We all signed our 
names, the General, I think, composing a phrase before his 
signature. Mr. Shaw then escorted us through the grounds, 
explaining, as he went, the names, virtues, and peculiarities of 
his botanical beauties, growing in regular beds outdoors or 
blooming in pots in the long green-houses. I remember one 
plant about three feet high that he took great interest in. I 
think he called it a breathing or pulse plant, and that it had 
come from the Amazon, in South America. Its small branches 



72 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

and slender leaves moved up and down with the rhythmic action 
of heart beats, and it seemed to be a living object. We stood 
in amazement at the sight of this rare plant, and General Spin- 
ner asked Mr. Shaw if he thought it had a heart and soul. The 
octogenarian replied : " I am as certain as I live that the same 
Supreme Being that called us into life and breathed into us His 
celestial spirit reigns in this wonderful plant and teaches us the 
lesson of immortality ! " 

We passed on, and, going back to the house at his pressing 
invitation, we lingered at the tomb that he had prepared to en- 
case his mortal remains when life's fitful fever was over. " Gen- 
eral," he said, pointing to the marble sarcophagus, " there is 
where I expect to rest when the sun shall shine for me no more, 
and since I will not be able to attend to my lovely flowers with 
hands of flesh, my spirit can watch over them daily and nightly, 
and their ov^n beauty will induce those to whom I have be- 
queathed them to watch with jealous care for their preservation." 
We were deeply impressed by the solemn language and sur- 
rounding scene, a man standing beside his own tomb delivering 
his own funeral oration. When we arrived at the house we found 
a light lunch prepared, and the old sage pressed us to partake, 
producing some fine old sherry wine, clear as amber and seem- 
ingly as old as himself. In a short time we finished, and, as 
General Spinner wished to take the train that night for Wash- 
ington, hurried away, bidding Mr. Shaw and his beautiful garden 
a fond farewell, he not forgetting, however, to present each of 
the ladies with a beautiful bouquet and the General and myself 
with a single jacqueminot to wear as a boutonniere. 

In due course we arrived at the Planters' House. The Gen- 
eral and his daughters were much pleased with their entertain- 
ment by Mr. Shaw, and to the day of their death, no doubt, 
remembered with pleasure the St. Louis botanist. 

The last time I saw General Spinner was at Willard's Hotel, 
on his way to Florida, two years before his death. The rav- 
ages of a cancer had gready disfigured his face and a setded 



SPINNER. 73 

gloom seemed to have taken possession of his countenance, 
while his natural irritability was increased. He saw but few 
persons, and those some of the true and faithful clerks that had 
honestly served him while Treasurer. The morning I called 
was dark and rainy. He was located on the second floor on 
the corner near the F-street entrance. When I put in an 
appearance at his parlor room he rose with some effort, 
saluted me kindly, and I remarked, "Why, General, how 
well you look." He impulsively replied, " Now, look here, 
Joyce, you know that's a lie ! " I made some explanatory re- 
marks and turned the conversation into another channel, know- 
ing, of course, that my first salutation was not exactly the truth, 
but uttered as the usual compliment among friends. But I'll 
never forget the sterling sincerity of Spinner, who would not 
accept a passing social compliment when he felt it to be false ! 
The waters of the romantic Mohawk now murmur a requiem 
to his memory, and the rolling hills and blooming vales that 
blessed his boyhood will long echo the praises of this illustrious 
man, who handled $3,000,000,000 during the civil war and ac- 
counted for every cent to a grateful people, who will always 
cherish his memory while truth, loyalty, and honesty reign in 
the human heart ! 

He stands in bronze without a peer or clan — 
The bold, heroic figure of a man. 
To tell to generations yet unborn 
That he was one who held up to all scorn 
The man or woman who would not do right 
And on great Virtue draw a draft at sight. 
He'll stand for truth along the columned years, 
And bring to patriot eyes pathetic tears, 
That one so good and great should pass away 
And mingle with the cold, unconscious clay. 
But what he did in life will shine and grow 
Like waters from the hills that flash and flow, 
To gather greater volume as they run 
And scatter blessings from each sun to sun. 
To woman in her struggle to be free 



74 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

He gave his hand and heart right royally, 
And battled for her rights both night and day 
To have a chance to work and get her pay. 
No pelf or power could sway him to the wrong, 
He stood like granite crags, so bold and strong — 
That all the storms of life could not deface 
A character — the finest of his race! 
In legislative halls he stood ornate, 
With pivot points and truth to close debate, 
And flashed his sabre in the face of greed, 
A gallant charger who was born to lead! 
As cashier of a nation, grand and great, 
He stood a splendid pillar of the State; 
Disbursing billions with an honest hand 
To save the glory of his native land. 
His name shall brighten as the years prolong 
The words of wisdom and the soul of song, 
And while a woman lives to love and pray. 
His glory shall be sounded to the latest day — 
Teaching the world that equal rights for all 
Shall triumph round this grand terrestrial ball. 
Here let him stand through summer suns or frost, 
To tell a Nation that no good is lost— 
For doing duty like the lordly man, 
Who sometimes thinks that in this earthly plan 
The Great Creator only counts the male, 
And woman but a fancy thing to hail! 
This statue that we dedicate today 
Will stand when granite columns melt away. 
And tell to tottering age and blooming youth 
That Glory centers in immortal Truth, 
That man reveres the honest, patriot heart 
Who struggles nobly and performs his part- 
In all the walks of life, through weal or woe, 
A faithful friend and an outspoken foe. 
He cringed not to the power of wealth or state; 
He only knew that to be true was to be great. 
And did his duty, firm and square and kind— 
The honest output of a heart and mind. 
He fawned not to the rabble howl or cheers 
In all his life, near ninety glorious years. 
But kept his soul as pure and true and bright 



SPINNER. 75 

As stars that glitter in an Arctic night. 
And he who does his duty shall be blessed 
When angel voices call him home to rest, 
Where Heavenly choirs chant their matin hymns, 
And golden goblets filled up to the brims, 
With living wine, to cheer the noble soul 
That fights for right to an eternal goal. 
Glory to Spinner and his loyal band 
Who kept us still a brave, united land, 
From where the fair magnolia tree doth shine 
To golden sands replete with fniit and wine. 
And as the ages wing their flight away 
We'll sound in chorus a grand deathless lay 
For Liberty and Truth against the world: 
Our glorious banner still to man unfurled — 
An emblem of the brave, the pure, and free, 
The rainbow colors of eternity! 



CHAPTER IX. 



SAMUEL SULLIVAN COX. 

Samuel Sullivan Cox, familiarly known as " Sunset," was 
of Irish lineage and was born in Zanesville, Ohio, on the 30th 
of September, 1824, and died in the city of New York on the 
loth of September, 1889. His grandfather, from New Jersey, 
was a general in the Revolutionary War and served under 
Washington in many of the battles that established our Repub- 
lic and drove monarchy from our shores. 

Mr. Cox graduated in the classics at Brown College, and in 
the spring of 1853 became editor of the Ohio Statesman, pub- 
lished at Columbus. It was while managing this journal that 
he derived the sobriquet of " Sunset," which arose out of an 
eloquent editorial description of a sunset that flashed over Co- 
lumbus on the afternoon of the 8th of May, 1853. 

It is well worth preserving in enduring form as a brilliant 
specimen of word painting rarely surpassed by any writer. 
Here it is : 

A GREAT OLD SUNSET. 

" What a stormful sunset was that of last night ! 

" How glorious the storm and how splendid the setting sun. 
We do not remember to have ever seen the like on our round 
globe. The scene opened in the west with the whole horizon 
full of golden interpenetrating luster, which colored the foliage 
and brightened every object into its own rich dyes. 

" The colors grew deeper and richer until the golden luster was 
transfused into a storm cloud full of brightest lightning, which 
leaped in dazzling zigzags all around and over the city. The 
wind arose with fury, the slender shrubs and giant trees made 
obeisance to its majesty. Some even snapped before its face. 

(76) 



cox. 77 

" The strawberry beds and grape plots turned up their blooms 
to see Zepyhrus march by. As the rains came and the pools 
formed, there appeared in the azure belt a celestial city. It 
became more vivid, revealing strange forms and peerless fanes, 
rare and grand in this mundane sphere. 

" But the cloud and sun-capped city vanished only to give 
place to a magic isle, where the most beautitul forms of foliage 
appeared, imaging a paradise in the distance and a purified 
celestial air. 

" The sun, wearied of the elemental commotion, sank behind 
the green plains of the West. The great eye in Heaven, how- 
ever, went not down without a dark brow hanging over its de- 
parting light. The rich flush of the unearthly light had passed 
away and the rain had ceased, when the solemn church bells 
pealed, the laughter of children resounded — joy, after the storm 
is over, the carol of flitting birds, while the forked and purple 
weapon of the skies still darted illumination around the Starling 
College, trying to rive its nigged angles and leap into its dark 
windows. 

" Candles are lighted. The piano strikes up its melodious 
strains. We feel it is good to have a home ; good to be on the 
earth, where such revelations of beauty and power may be made. 

''And, as we cannot refrain from reminding our readers of 
eveiything wonderful in our city, we have begun and ended our 
impulsive etching of a sunset, which comes so rarely that its 
resplendent glory should be committed to immortal type ! " 

I was introduced to " Sunset '' Cox in the winter of 1869 by 
Hon. Charles A. Eldredge, a leader of the House of Repre- 
sentatives from Wisconsin. Cox had just been elected from 
New York City to Congress, having served four previous terms 
from Ohio. He was in the prime of life, vigorous, alert, bright, 
witty, and generous to a fault. 

While a Democrat of unfaltering fealty, he daring the whole 
civil war held up the hands of the Government and voted men 



78 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

and money for the suppression of the rebelHon. He was the 
author of one of our best census and apportionment enactments. 

But, what will carry his name and fame down the years is the 
establishment of the Life-saving Service and the propulsion he 
gave to the letter-carrier system of the Nation. He was the 
constant guardian of the ocean life savers and letter carriers, 
two of the most important branches of the Government, which 
merits the sympathy and encomiums of the people. Great 
danger is constantly incurred by the ocean life savers, and the 
most withering exposure is often endured uncomplainingly by 
the faithful and honest letter carriers. 

I have often heard " Sunset" Cox express these sentiments 
around the social board, and in the halls of Congress, only in a 
more emphatic form. 

He was the life and joy of the social board, bubbling with 
wit and humor as bright as the sparkling jewels that race around 
the rim of the wine cup. 

I shall never forget the 226. day of February, 1881. Pass- 
ing down Pennsylvania avenue about 10 o'clock in the morning 
with Hon. Charles A. Eldredge, when the city wore its holiday 
garb in celebration of the Father of his Country, nearing the 
National Theater, we came in contact with " Sunset " Cox, 
General Belknap, Colonel Crosby, and John Albaugh, the noted 
actor and theatrical manager. Cox seemed to be full of the 
glorious day and asked us to " celebrate." We unanimously 
accepted his invitation, and proceeded to a private room in the 
theatre. Wine was ordered, and distributed by John Hartnett, 
a son of the Emerald Isle, who had lost none of his wit in cross- 
ing the ocean. 

I moved that the " House " elect a " Speaker " of the social 
conclave, and at the same time nominated " Sunset " Cox. John 
Albaugh seconded the motion, and it was carried without a dis- 
senting vote. We demanded a speech or a song, when the 
" Speaker" launched out into eloquence and poetry. Holding 
up his glass to the Hibernian Hebe, he sang : 



I 



cox. 79 

Fill the goblet again! for I never before 

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core; 

Let us drink! — who will not? — since through life's varied round 

In the goblet alone no deception is found! 

I have tried in its tarn all that life can supply; 

I have basked in the beam of a dark rolling eye, 

I have loved! — who has not? — but what heart can declare, 

That pleasure existed while passion was there. 

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown, 
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own; 
We must die! — who shall not? — may our sins be forgiven — 
And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven! 

We cheered to the echo and drank standing. I could imagine 
the spirit of the glorious Lord Byron listening to his social song, 
sung so sweetly by " Sunset " Cox. Like Oliver Twist, we 
called for more, and the genial " Sunset" gave us a fine dra- 
matic rendition of Melnot's description of his palace on the Lake 
of Como, where he wished to harbor the beautiful Pauline in the 
magic meshes of his affection. 

John Albaugh, by special request, rendered in his inimitable 
way a scene from Brutus and the immortal soliloquy of the 
melancholy Dane. General Belknap told some racy war 
stories. Mr. Eldredge told some laughable Congressional 
yarns. Colonel Crosby gave us the beef-contract story of the 
irrepressible Mark Twain, while I recited a few of my poems, 
sang a song, and whistled the mocking bird. 

After an extended symposum we adjourned in due form, feel- 
ing satisfied that each patriot had done full justice to the birth- 
day of the immortal Washington. 

^ ^ ;;; ^ ^ 

While Mr. Cox was minister to Turkey, in 1885, I had pub- 
lished in New York, by Thomas R. Knox & Co., a volume, 
entitled " Peculiar Poems," and in it had one " Lindalou " dedi- 
cated to my esteemed friend Cox. I sent him a copy of the 
book with my compHments. 



8o JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Soon after I received from him a long letter from Constanti- 
nople containing some very funny and satirical remarks. 

I picture " Lindalou "as the light of the harem and intimate 
that " Sunset " is in love with her, making him say in one verse — 

I live in the li.s:ht of the harem, 
And bask 'neath her beautiful eyes. 

Recline on rich Ottoman velvets 
To gaze on the Bosphorus skies, 
Lindalou and her sweet paradise. 

Here are a few sentences from his humorous letter: " I have 
read your ' Peculiar Poems ' with great pleasure, but why 
should you hitch me up to a harem beauty and put me in the 
way of a divorce from Mrs. C. and have the Grand Vizier 
strangle an innocent ' Buckeye ' and pitch him into the deep 
waters of the Golden Horn is more than I can understand ; and 
that, you know, would lead to an instant war between the 
United States and the Ottoman Empire, which would in all 
human probability set the whole world up in arms, all on account 
of* Lindalou,' a fairy-like form, moulded in beauty and grace, 
who floats like a sylph on the light wings of space. 

"Joyce, you have ruined me! I am going to send in my 
resignation very soon to President Cleveland, who can appreciate 
my * Lindalou ' situation, for I know that if the Sultan gets 
on to this ' light of the harem ' business I'm a ' goner.' 

"I'd rather be back anyhow with the Tigers of Tammany 
and the * boys ' of Washington than to risk my life monkeying 
around ' Lindalou.' " 

Mr. Cox was at one time Speaker pro tern, of the House 
of Representatives, and I have often heard his keen, ready 
wit on the floor and his fair and impartial rulings in the 
chair. His wit may have at times interfered with the dignity of 
his public positions and kept him from higher stations, where 
silent and solemn mediocrity often reach by a system of somber 
philosophy, but his genial humor kept him in tone with the 
masses, and to this day they revere his memory. He was an 



cox. 8 1 

extensive traveler, having circled the globe and gathered golden 
treasures of thought wherever he wandered. He was the author 
of several interesting books, among them "Arctic Sunbeams," 
" Orient Sunbeams," " Why We Laugh," etc. 

His Congressional, campaign, and miscellaneous orations were 
masterpieces of wit, humor, and philosophy, seldom leaving a 
sting in the minds of the hearers, but, on the contrary, a grace 
and pleasure such as Pericles might bestow on an Athenian 
audience. 

The exit of such a genial and generous being from the ranks 
of mankind leaves a broken link in the chain of affection, and 
the world feels lonelier for the absence of a man who lived but 
to love and gave his best thought and action for the elevation 
and progress of his race. » 

While love and truth are ever grand, 

And noble deeds prevail, 
The name of " Sunset " Cox shall stand 

Through every ocean gale. 

As an evidence of the esteem and affection in which " Sun- 
set" Cox was held by his colleagues and compeers it is only 
necessary for the reader to glance at the following epigrammatic 
and eloquent tributes paid to the illustrious dead, when his 
funeral obsoquies were held in the Congress of the United States. 

The genial and witty Amos Cummings, of New York, says : 

He aided in reconciling the sections, he shielded the Israelite 
from political debarkation, he shortened the tramp of the weary 
postman, he made the angry waves jubilant with the song of rescue. 
He was a star in our political galaxy from which men take observa- 
tions. Whatever weakness he had came not from the poverty, but 
from the plenitude of his power, and when occasion demanded he 
buried his political animosities in his patriotism. 

The pugnacious, industrious, and classic Benton McMillin, of 
Tennessee, says: 

Cox was a great student. When Atticus asked Cicero to recount 
the means by which he had achieved his marvelous success, the 



82 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

orator replied that he studied three years for the forum and prac- 
ticed two years, during which he met Hortensius; that he was not 
satisfied with his own style, and that he traveled two years in the 
East to study and reform it; that during this entire seven years he 
hardly let a day escape him that he did not write something, mem- 
orize something, and compose something. Mr. Cox, like the elo- 
quent Tully, was an untiring worker. I knew no man who could 
work more rapidly or did work more constantly. He was gifted 
with rare ability to conceive beautiful and forcible thoughts and 
extraordinary eloquence to promulgate them. 

He loved his country with the fervor which should characterize 
a patriot whose ancestors had fought in the Revolution. 

General Grosvenor, of Ohio, remarks : 

The bright things which he said and which have passed into per- 
manent record were spontaneous and not prearranged. His wit 
was born at the moment. His repartee came rushing forth, sug- 
gested by his opponent. The very challenge produced the answer. 
The thought came as a flash of lightning. It was inspiration. 

He was a man without malice. He fought hard and dealt heavy 
blows in a contest, but when the battle ceased there was no bitter- 
ness behind. He had statesmanship as well as politics. 

Mr. Frank Lawler, of Illinois, an Irish patriot, says of Cox : 

He was a representative American, proud of his country, proud 
of the American people, and devoted to the ennoblement of the 
American Republic. His sympathies were broad and acute. They 
welled out to all humanity wherever there was suffering and afflic- 
tion among the people. 

Mr. McAdoo, of New Jersey, an eloquent son from the 
Emeral Isle and an American to the backbone, says : 

Gifted, versatile, cosmopolitan, the range of his mental vision 
sped from land to land and ranged the orbits of other worlds in 
star-gemmed space. Intensely American in the best and highest 
sense, he was neighbor and brother to all mankind. He lived in 
close communion with nature, loving the beautiful and the good, 
and his pulses timed their beat with the throbs of the great heart 
of humanity, and his very heart-strings vibrated to the sublime 
anthem of universal liberty. 

Mr. Covert, of New York, pays an eloquent tribute to our 



cox. 83 

departed friend, and quotes the beautiful and solemn poem of 
Gen. Albert Pike, the great luminar}'- of Masonry. 

And so, loving and loved, Cox passed from the semi-darkness of 
this life into the eternal light and glory of the light hereafter. 

** To the past go more dead faces 

Every year. 
As the loved leave vacant places 

Every year. 
Everywhere their sad eyes meet us; 
In the evening's dusk they greet us. 
And to come to them entreat us 

Every year. 

*' You are growing old, they tell us, 

Every year; 
You are more alone, they tell us, 

Every year. 
You can win no new affection; 
You have only recollection, 
Deeper sorrow and dejection 

Every year. 

** But the truer life draws nigher 

Every year, 
And its morning star climb! higher 

Every year. 
Earth's hold on us grows slighter, 
And its heavy burden lighter, 
And the dawn immortal brighter 

Every year." 

The witty and epigrammatic Ash. Caruth, of Kentucky, says : 
Not only was Cox a great orator and a great statesman, but he 
was a scholar besides. I asked him once how he found time in his 
busy life to give attention to literary matters and charm by printed 
page as he had by spoken word, and he told me that God had 
given him a helpmate in the person of his wife, and that she had 
shared bis labors as she had indeed doubled the pleasures of his 
life. And thus, loved at home, admired by his peers, honored by 
the people, the statesman, the wit, the scholar, passed his life away. 
The passing years left but little impress on his brow and made no 
mark upon his heart. 



84 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

General Wheeler, of Alabama, a dashing cavalry officer of 
the late Confederacy,, pays " Sunset " this noble and sententious 
compliment : 

Firm as a rock, brilliant as a star, artless as a child, pure as a 
woman, God endowed him for a good purpose with a resiliency of 
wit, a faculty of impersonation, and an irresistible mimicry and a 
dramatic power that were inexhaustible. How much the world 
owes to such a nature we cannot tell. It is often a greater good to 
cause a laugh than to start a tear. We all cry enough, God knows, 
and have enough to cry about, and we need no impulse in that 
direction. But he who can scatter our gloom by innocent merri- 
ment has been to us an emancipator! 

Senator Voorhees, of Indiana, a genuine gentleman and lofty 
orator, speaks of our dear friend in this heroic fashion : 

With the eye of a philosopher and with a soul filled with the poetry 
and sublimity of high historic associations, he saw almighty Rome, 
climbed the Pyramids, and stood upon Mount Calvary. He tra- 
versed deserts on the camel's back and camped at nightfall with 
the Bedouin at long-sought wells of fresh water. He floated on the 
waters of the Nile, and plucked the lotus, the Egyptians' symbol 
of the creation. He rrtferked the course of the Euphrates; looked 
upon the Red Sea where Pharaoh attempted to cross in pursuit of 
fugitive slaves; drank from the river Jordan, and slept by the cool- 
ing fountains of Damascus. 

Wherever he traveled and in whatever clime he sojourned what a 
stanch and genuine American he was! The sunbeams of the Orient, 
the soft skies of Italy, the grandest scenery of the Alps, were not so 
attractive or sublime to him as the face of nature in his own western 
home. After gliding on the waters of the blue Danube and along 
the castellated heights of the Rhine, he was wont to say that the 
Hudson between Albany and New York and the Ohio from Steu- 
benville to Cincinnati presented more beauty to the eye of the 
traveler than any other rivers of the world. 

Sir, such a character as I have but imperfectly delineated must 
take and hold a front place in the history of his country. His works 
are durable contributions to the cause of human progress, and they 
cannot perish. Their influences will bide the test of time and will 
go on forever! 



cox. 85 

Senator, Vest, of Missouri, the ever-ready and humorous states- 
man, says: 

Cox was in some respects the most remarkable man I have known 
in pubHc affairs. Whilst there was nothing majestic or rugged in 
his nature, he was beyond question better adapted to public life as 
known to the American people than any other man in all my ac- 
quaintance. He was capable of indefatigable labor, with varied 
accomplishments, versatile talents, wonderful eloquence, and a 
tenacity of purpose which knew nothing like failure. 

Hon. J. Proctor Knott, of Kentucky, made a grand oration 
upon the memory of Mr. Cox at the great Cooper Union meet- 
ing in New York. Here are a couple of sparkling gems from 
his symmetrical masterpiece, and would do credit to Pericles, who 
delivered the eulogium over the dead Athenians : 

Beneath the rippling, sparkling surface of his never-failing, effer- 
vescent humor there lay the serenest depths of thought, an energy 
of will that knew no impediment, and powers of intellectual labor 
that defied fatigue. 

His hunger for information was as ravenous as the genius of 
famine. It devoured everything that could amuse the fancy, im- 
prove the mind, or elevate the soul. His fealty to the Union was 
paramount to all other obligations; his prfde in its grandeur and 
power touched the extremest limit of exultant enthusiasm ; his 
veneration for its Constitution was the supreme sentiment of his 
soul; his faith in its destiny transcended the wildest dream of 
optimism. 



CHAPTER X 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

The poet-journalist is sometimes found in the same person, 
but the Muse soars aloft and circles over the tripod like an 
Alpine eagle over the hungry vulture of the valley. 

The true poet, profound or ethereal, is like a wandering spirit 
shot out of its celestial orb into a strange planet, where his soar- 
ing and sensitive nature wear out his weary wings battling against 
the sordid creatures that stare in amazement at the brilliant colors 
of his plumage. 

Some day he is found dead in a little corner of the globe with 
his bright wings folded forever, his impulsive warm heart cold, 
and his classic face furrowed with the wrinkles of uncongenial 
elements that have left him a vTeck on the shores of time. 

Over the cold ashes of the poet the world will gather with 
mournful mien and sigh at the grave of buried genius. Yes- 
terday, he suffered for sympathy and bread ; today, a funeral 
train honors his memory ; tomorrow, a monument will point 
posterity to a prodigy of celestial aspirations, whose songs will 
thrill the heart of mankind through the crowding ages. 

Yes; when he's seen no more in field or town, 
And all his mortal part lies cold and dead, 

Some sage or city for their own renown 
Will give a shaft where once he needed bread. 

I have had the pleasure of meeting three of the most illus-" 
trious American poets — Henry W. Longfellow, from the pine- 
clad hills of Maine ; William CuUen Bryant, from the granite 
hills of Massachusetts, and George D. Prentice, from the rolling 
rivers and circling bays of Connecticut. These famous men had 
(86) 



PRENTICE. 87 

many elements in common and have left their " footprints on the 
sands of time." 

Longfellow was purely poetical, while Bryant and Prentice 
joined journalism with poetry, and through the press wrought 
in the interest of statesmanship and the success of republican 
government. They were profound scholars, and, while not en- 
dowed with the elemental philosophy of Aristotle, Plato, or 
Newton, their views of life, death, and time, as exemplified in the 
" Psalm of Life," " Thanatopsis," and " The Closing Year " will 
always remain masterpieces of literary philosophy. 

Longfellow exclaimed with pathetic voice : 

**Art is long and Time is fleeting, 
And our hearts tho' stout and brave, 
Still like muffled drums are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

" Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! 
Let the dead past bury its dead! 
Act, act in the living present! 
Heart within and God o'erhead!" 

Bryant views death in this sublime flight : 

"The hills; 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green; and poured round all 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — 
Are but the solemn decorations 
Of the great tomb of man!" 

Prentice contemplates on Time and *' The Closing Year" in 
these profound and philosophic phrases, superior in my estima- 
tion to anything ever written by his compeers — dished off, too, 
on the impulse of the moment at the clamorous solicitation of 
a lot of little newsboys, who wanted an address to sell to their 
patrons on New Year's Day. 



88 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

" 'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now 
Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 
The still and pulseless world. * * * 
The year has gone, and with it many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 
Its shadow in each heart. In its awful course 
It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful. 
And they are not. * * * 
Remorseless time! 
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe. 
What power can stay him in his silent course 
Or melt his iron heart to pity. 

On, still on, he presses and forever. * * * 
The proud bird — 

The condor of the Andes that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home — 
Furls his broad wings at nightfall and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain crag — but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness. * * * 

" New empires rise — 
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries. 
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche. 
Startling the nations; and the very stars, 
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, 
Glitter awhile in their eternal depths. 
And like the Pleaids, loveliest of their train, 
Shoot from their glorious spheres and pass away 
To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time, 
Time, the tomb builder , holds his fierce career, 
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path 
To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought! 

Many of the personal poems of Prentice rank in the first class, 
notably his " Lines to an Absent Wife" and his " Name in the 
Sand," in which his soul soars up to his Creator. 



PRENTICE. 89 

"And yet, with Him who counts the sands 
And holds the waters in his hands 
I know a lasting record stands 
Inscribed against my name; 
Of all this mortal part has wrought 
Of all my thinking soul has thought 
And from these fleeting moments caught, 
For glory or for shame!" 

In the presence of Longfellow, seated in his library at Cam- 
bridge, with his snowy locks, benevolent face, and soothing 
voice the gentle spirit of Evangeline and Minnehaha seemed to 
hover near, and his melancholy wail, by the sea, at " the bridge " 
spontaneously bubbled up in my mind. 

" How often, O, how often 
I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 
O'er the ocean wild and wide!" 

It was the summer before the poet's death, in 1881, that 1 
gazed for the last time on the sweet singer, and even then I 
could see that the "ebbing tide"" was silently bearing him away 
o'er the celestial ocean that washes the shores of immortality ! 

I was in New York City in 1875 at the Astor House and ex- 
pressed a desire to a literary friend to see the poet Bryant. He 
remarked that the poet did not come to the office of the Post 
very often, but we might step over and see Godwin and find 
out. We went and luckily found the literary lion, to whom I 
was introduced. He impressed me deeply, spoke in a solemn 
voice, looked like an Oriental sage, with a grand dome of thought, 
jutting brow and flowing beard, over a body not rugged or 
strong. I spoke of reading his " Thanatopsis " at school, in 
Kentucky, and of being infatuated with all the grand poets of the 
ages. 

" Yes ; " said he, " I'm glad you like poetry. It has been 
the heaven of my earthly career, and were I naked of all 
worldy trappings, I would not exchange the glorious pleasures 



90 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

of the Muses for all the wealth of Croesus. ' Thanatopsis ' was 
one of my earliest poems, and, strange to say, many of my liter- 
ary friends throughout the world think it my best production." 

Mr. Bryant, may I ask what you think about it ? 

" Well," said the sage, " it is hard to batde against the verdict 
of the world, but for a broad view of human life and teaching 
the truth of immortality I think " The Flood of Years " contains 
the best thoughts I have uttered ; and yet some of my minor 
poems, expressing the grief of my surcharged heart over the 
' Death of the Flowers ' or the carnage of ' The Battlefield ' 
have quatrains that may live when some of my more pretentious 
lines are buried in the grave of forgetfulness. For instance — 

" Truth crushed to earth shall rise again; 
The eternal years of God are hers; 
But error, wounded, writhes in pain 
And dies among his worshipers!' 

The grand old patriarch paused, we arose, bade him a last 
farewell, and found our way into the tumbling, rumbling life that 
swells the tide of human affairs on Broadway. 

I became personally acquainted with George D. Prentice, the 
celebrated wit, journalist, and poet in the month of January, 
1863, at Louisville, Ky. He was then about sixty-one years of 
age, and the ravages of time had deeply furrowed his features 
and twisted his gnarled form. I was at the time about twenty- 
one years of age and adjutant of the Twenty-fourth Kentucky 
Regiment. My regiment was camped at the " Oaklands," a 
suburban site near the city. Previous to my enlistment I had 
from my home in Mount Sterling sent some fugitive verses to 
the Louisville Journal that appeared in the poet's corner, and, 
of course, like all young fledgling who aspire to court the Muses, 
I was flattered and imagined that the spirits of Homer, Byron, 
and Edgar Allen Poe were looking right down on my growing 
greatness. I felt, too, that the author of " The Closing Year " 
was cognizant of a new-found star in the celestial realm of poesy. 



PRENTICE. 91 

I concluded to call on the great Llama of literature and loy- 
alty, and to this end secured a pass for forty-eight hours to pro- 
tect me against the scrutinizing eyes of provost guards or the 
shoulder-strapped minions of Colonel Mark Mundy, the post 
commander. 

I had been paid off and received some four months' back 
wages, purchased a stunning uniform with gold gilt buttons and 
staff shoulder-straps almost as large as a bar of soap ! Thus^ 
panoplied in all the trappings of glorious war, with a pocketful 
of cash, I sailed out of camp, as it were, in company with my 
schoolmate. Will. L. Visscher, passed over Broadway and into 
Green street, where the old Journal office was located. I im- 
agined that the overcoat of General Grant would not make a 
vest for this proud adjutant, and that the ladies I passed on the 
street were gloriously impressed with my military bearing. 

As a bracer to the ordeal I was about to undergo, I invited 
Visscher to join me in a bottle of wine at the celebrated Walker's 
Exchange. After irrigating our anatomy with the exhilarating 
fluid we proceeded to the Journal office. Visscher left me at 
the bottom of the steps leading to the editorial room of the 
great poet and journalist, saying that he had an engagement to 
meet one of the belles of Louisville, but promised that he would 
see me in an hour or two at the Gait House. 

It was then about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. I marched 
up the rickety stairs around a dark hall filled with stacks of 
blank paper and was stalking on to the den of the editor when 
a " smoked Yankee," like an ogre, intercepted my further prog- 
ress and exclaimed, "What ye want, sah?" I replied that I 
wished to see Mr. Prentice. " Send in yer cad, sah !" I had 
forgotten to lay in a supply of cards, but with that presence of 
mind that never forsakes a great soldier tore off a corner of the 
printing paper in the hall, wrote my name, and gave it to the im- 
perial menial. He soon returned and waved me into the royal 
sanctum. I straightened up, shook down my trousers, settled 
into my coat as if moulded for the garment, and then marched 



92 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

in with the air of a drum major on dress parade. I looked 
around the shabby, naked room, saw a stout, low-built man writ- 
ing away at a rude desk with a very tremulous hand. His head 
was large, round, and somewhat bald, but the bumps and fur- 
rows on his brow reminded me of Socrates or some of the 
ancient philosophers whose pictures I had seen in historical 
and classical works. He did not look up, although he must 
have known that I was present, for I coughed, tramped around, 
and becoming impatient at non-recognition finally threw on the 
floor a pile of newspapers off the only stool in the room, right 
near his desk, and planted my military greatness on the sight 
of the displaced literature. He went right on with his scratch- 
ing hieroglyphics until he got to the bottom of the page, and 
threw down his pen, whirled about in his chair, and with a look 
of mingled madness and sententious satire said, " Who are 
you ? " " I'm a fool ! " " So am I ; shake ! " And that was 
our first acquaintance. His brow began to relax its intensity 
and a furtive smile came over his his couatenauce as he gazed 
on my military make-up. 

" So you're an adjutant, are you? What's that ? " 
"That, sir," I replied, "is the hinge to the door jamb of a 
colonel." 

"An, indeed ; do you ever drink ? " 
" Never; except when alone or in company." 
" Tom, my carriage ! " 

He took up his gold-headed cane, hobbled down the stairs 
to the street, where we took the carriage and rode to the Gait 
House. I was ushered into a wine room back of the office and 
introduced to Major Silas Miller, the proprietor, and to Mr. 
Magofhn and Mr. Owsley. Prentice put up two fingers and soon 
there appeared a servant with two quart bottles of Heidsieck 
wine. Five glasses were brought, and the waiter filled them 
to the brim. Prentice held up his glass and said : " Gentle- 
men, I want to drink to the health of our young adjutant, who 
tells me that he is a poet and a fool ! " We drank with a vim, 
and, although I felt nettled at the toast, I thought myself too 



PRENTICE. 93 

sharp to reply to these old, wise, and witty cronies, who spent 
part of most every afternoon in Bacchanalian revelry. Visscher 
appeared at this moment, and I introduced him to the quartet 
of solid citizens. 

Another glass was brought, and we filled to the brim once 
more. I proposed the toast, " The United States." They 
drank it, although Magoffin and Owsley did not seem very 
enthusiastic about my patriotic sentiment. 

I put up two fingers for the eye of the " contraband," and 
soon the Heidsieck dose was repeated. Wit, words, humor, 
laughter, and cross-firing began in fine style as the wine was 
doing its perfect work, and Prentice led the conversation with 
keen satire and thrusts all round the board. I could imagine 
myself seated at " the Club " with Dr. Sam Johnson, Garrick, 
Beauclerc, Goldsmith, and company, rattling away the hours in 
glorious jollity. The wine began to work upon my poetic mem- 
ories, and I dashed into the arena like a gladiator from the 
gulches of Gaul, first spouting " The Closing Year " as a com- 
pliment to Prentice, and I must say that the poet and his friends 
seemed delighted at my rendition of his celebrated poem. 

Prentice then began his badinage and spurred me about pre- 
suming to think that I was a poet, and finally defied me to 
write something offhand and prove to his friends that I was not 
a pretender. 

I said, "All right; what shall I write about? " " Oh," said 
Prentice, "write about anything — wiite about us, wine, feasting 
fun, or philosophy." I asked for paper, and it was furnished. I 
then turned around to a side table, pulled my memories together, 
thought of Horace, the Falernian wine poet, and one of his odes, 
where he speaks of people joining you when you laugh, but 
declining to cling to you when you weep. Then, too, the sug- 
gestions of Prentice and the surrounding scene and anchored 
in my mind and inspired my lines. 

I immediately pulled a pencil from my pocket and wrote the 
following verses inside of fifteen minutes, while my companions 
were dumping down wine with hilarious vociferation : 



94 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Laugh, and the world laughs with you, 

Weep and you weep alone; 

This grand old earth must borrow its mirth, 

It has troubles enough of its own. 

Sing, and the hills will answer; 

Sigh, it is lost on the air; 

The echoes bound to a joyful sound, 

But shrink from voicing care. 

Be glad, and your friends are many; 

Be sad, and you lose them all; 

There are none to decline your nectared wine, 

But alone you must drink life's gall; 

There is room in the halls of pleasure 

For a long and a lordly train. 

But one by one we must all file on 

Through the narrow aisles of pain. 

Feast, and your halls are crowded; 

Fast, and the world goes by; 

Succeed and give, 'twill help you live. 

But no one can help you die. 

Rejoice, and men will seek you; 

Grieve, and they turn and go — 

They want full measure of all your pleasure, 

But they do not want your woe! 

I threw these lines to Prentice. He read them to the revelers, 
and then exclaimed : " Si.," speaking to Miller, " didn't I tell 
you that fellow was a fool ? Now I know he's crazy ! " 

Well, the world has had the benefit of my brain baby for 
thirty years, although " Exchange," "Anonymous," and other 
literary robbers have claimed it. What care I ? Mankind can 
make the most of it. More than a dozen other of my verses 
have gone the rounds of the press under the colors of some 
plagiarist. 

The glorious Prentice has slept beneath the sod for nearly a 
quarter of a century, but the grand thoughts that he uttered in 
life will spread over the years like perfume from an unseen censer 
and thrill the heart of mankind when the memory of his social 
and literary critics are washed into the waters of oblivion. 



CHAPTER XL 



*• PARSON" BROWNLOW. 

William G. Brownlow, of East Tennessee, was one of the 
most remarkable men I ever met. He was of slender build, six 
foot tall, high forehead, classic features, thin, firm lips, prominent, 
chiseled nose, and a bluish gray eye that was as direct and sure 
as death. He had what might be called a triangle head and 
countenance. He possessed the wisdom and truth of Socrates, 
the firmness and belief of Galilei, the bravery, and rashness of 
Winklereid, and the stolidity and fanaticism of John Brown, 

He came from Virginia rural stock ; rode the circuit as a moun- 
tain Methodist preacher, bestrode the tripod as an editor and 
wit, stood for the Union in the midst of the whirlpool of rebellion, 
graced the Governor's chair of his adopted State, and finally 
reached the United States Senate, where he shone like a land- 
mark of loyalty and commanded the sincere respect of his great- 
est compeers. 

No threat of chains or death could make him swerve from a 
position once taken, and at Knoxville, in the very teeth of armed 
rebel fury, after the fire on Fort Sumter, he belabored treason 
through the columns of the Whig with the most caustic casti- 
gation and abuse, and hoisted the Stars and Stripes over his 
home as a bold defiance to the Confederate troops that passed 
night and day by his door. 

He courted the vengeance of Jeff. Davis, Secretary Benjamin, 
and General Crittenden, and even after the suppression of his 
paper, while in jail condemned to death by a drumhead court- 
martial, he wrote his scaffold speech and defied all the powers 
of the Confederacy. Such characters as John Brown, Abraham 

(95) 



96 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Lincoln, and ** Parson " Brownlow are met but once in a cent- 
ury, and only when universal wrong, like slavery, calls great 
moral heroes to the front. 

I was introduced to Parson Brownlow by his son, Col. John 
Bell Brownlow, in the Marble Room of the Senate, when the 
old hero was suffering with physical ailments, being compelled, 
like another Radical — Thaddeus Stevens — to be wheeled about 
in an invalid's chair. His voice was clear and musical, his sen- 
tences clean cut as a razor, and his whole countenance pictured 
the ideal Puritan. 

I spoke of being from Kentucky, whose mountain walls rose 
like barriers of loyalty on the boundary of his own beloved East 
Tennessee, where the Cumberland River winds its rushing way 
through those everlasting rock-ribbed heights of patriotism. 

" Yes," he said, " I have always loved the people of Ken- 
tucky. I regarded Mr. Clay the greatest statesman America 
produced. Mr. Prentice, the poet and wit, too, I liked in my 
heart, although he and I crossed editorial lances sometimes with 
flashing acrimony. We warred in our papers, and while the 
Journal often struck me to the bone, I merely winced and tried 
to give back a Roland for an Oliver. Prentice had a loyal 
heart, while his family were rebels. 

" I predicted and knew that secession and rebellion would 
fail, tried my best to convince its leaders, Davis, Yancy, Toombs, 
and Isham Harris, but they were hell-bent on breaking up the 
Union. I thought at times that the Abolitionists went too far ; 
and I felt that while the Constitution and laws permitted slavery 
it should not be disturbed where it then existed, any more than 
any other property. 

" But, when the flag on Sumter was shot down by defiant 
traitors and treason reared its horrible head, I could see nothing 
but the whole Union and its glorious history. From that 
moment to this I have staked my property, liberty, and life for 
the Nation, and had I ten thousand lives I would gladly give 
them all for the Union." 



BROWNLOW. 97 

I remarked to him that East Tennessee never seceded. 

" No ! " said he, " so long as Smoky Mountain and Cumber- 
land Mountain rear their pine-clad peaks to the sky and the 
waters of the Cumberland, French Broad, and Holston rundown 
to the sea, so long will East Tennessee stand by the Union. 
We are patriots without price, and in proportion to our popu- 
lation sent more soldiers into the Union Army than any other 
spot in America. We are a simple and provincial people in 
our manners and habits, not garnishing our words or acts with 
hypocrisy. Our mountains and uplands are rugged, our valleys 
narrow but fertile, and a vein of genuine liberty, patriotism, and 
religion runs through the hearts of our people as true as the 
foresters of the Tyrol Swiss mountains." 

" Senator," said I, " how did you feel when you went on the 
platform at Knoxville to answer William L. Yancy and his 
secession doctrine ? " 

" I felt, my dear sir, that some one ought to answer his false 
doctrine, and, as none of my neighbors wished to take the lead, 
I thought it my duty to do so. That was a wild mob audience, 
and I have wondered since that some of the young bloods did 
not shoot me. 

" Yancy was very mad, and his black, flashing eyes shone 
upon me like those of a tiger, and while he seemed ready to 
leap at me he did not have the courage to do so. I was ready 
to die right there, and, as my Lord and Master wore the mar- 
tyr's crown, I, too, was not unwilling to share his sacrifice for 
the everlasting principles of truth." 

" May I ask if you really thought they would hang you the 
night you wrote your scaffold speech in the Knoxville jail ? " 

" Yes ; I firmly believed that they would hang me at daylight. 
The drumhead court-martial tried me in my absence for treason ! 
A good joke, wasn't it ? Infernal traitors trying a patriot for 
treason ; holding a court in hell, with Lucifer for judge. They 
were only too glad to send me to Nashville through the lines, 
and I believe it was a great relief to Davis, Benjamin, and Crit- 



98 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

tenden when they forced me, a lone, weary refugee, to leave 
their dastard dominions." 

" But, Senator, did you not return to Nashville soon after the 
Harris legislature impulsively skedaddled ? " 

" Yes ; that was a very funny scene. The first reports from 
Fort Donelson told in glowing colors how Buckner had captured 
Grant, and the whole town and rebel legislature got enthusiast- 
ically drunk, but the next day the boot was on the other leg, 
and Buell was reported to be advancing rapidly on the city of 
rocks. Great was the consternation and desire of the legislature 
to adjourn to a more congenial clime. Many places to the south 
were suggested. The Speaker at last brought down his gavel 
and said : * If we never meet again in this world, I hope we shall 
meet in Heaven.' 

"At this juncture a comical character from Hawkins County, 
named Bill Simpson, a Union man, who was loaded with liquid 
enthusiasm at the good news, staggered to the front and replied : 
* Mr. Speaker, I hope this body will not adjourn to meet in 
Heaven, for they will never have a quorum there ! '" 

After a few more remarks I left the great patriot, shaking the 
hand of a man that had the faith of Peter the Hermit, Martin 
Luther, and Lorenzo Dow. 

For many years he has slept in Gray Cemetery, overlooking 
the Holston River at Knoxville, and while the eagles of his 
mountain home soar into the upper blue and the waters of the 
French Broad dash down their rocky heights, his name will be 
revered, and the day is not distant when all the people of Ten- 
nessee will erect a splendid monument to the memory of a noble 
man who was true and faithful unto death. 

Jim and John, the gallant sons of the grand old "Parson," raised 
regiments for the Union Army and commanded them on many 
a hard-fought field. John led the charge at Greenville, Tenn., 
on the morning of the 4th of September, 1864, that resulted in 
the death of the Confederate General John Morgan, of Kentucky. 

In the month of July, 1864, Col. Jim Brownlow performed 



BROWNLOW. 99 

one of the rarest and bravest acts of the civil war in crossing the 
Chattahooche River. 

Maj. Gen. Ed. McCook, the illustrious cavalry officer of the 
Army of the Cumberland and late Governor of Colorado, makes 
the following statement in an official report July 9, 1864, to his 
superior officer : 

A detachment, under Colonel Dorr, crossed the pontoon this 
afternoon and scouted the country in front of General Schofield. 
They found the enemy's cavalry there in force. Colonel Brown- 
low performed one of his characteristic feats today. I had ordered 
a detachment to cross at Cochran's Ferry. It was deep and he took 
them over naked; nothing but guns, cartridge boxes, and hats. 
They drove the enemy out of their rifle-pits, captured a non-com- 
missioned officer and three men and the two boats on the other 
side. They would have got more, but the rebels had the advant- 
age in running through the bushes and briars with their clothes on. 
It was certainly one of the funniest sights of the war, and a very 
successful raid for naked men to make. 

Numerous anecdotes are told of the " Parson's " personal 
prowess. Hon. S. M. Arnell, late Congressman from Middle 
Tennessee and a friend of Brownlow, relates : 

Some irate individual of Falstaffian courage, filled with the sour 
wine of State rights and secession, had busied himself in abusing 
Brownlow on the streets and elsewhere. At length he was served 
up in the Whig on live coals. This bombastes furioso proceeded 
to a store in the town to buy a cowhide. One was shown to him, 
but he objected to it, saying: 

" It might be large enough for use on a mule or a horse, but I 
want a still larger one. I am going to use it on Brownlow." 

The merchant said to him quietly: 

** It is the largest one we have in the store; but I would advise 
you not to use it in the manner proposed." 

"Why not?" he said snappishly. " Is he a fighting character?" 

" No," responded the merchant; "among his neighbors he has 
the reputation of being a very quiet, peaceable man; but I know 
that he will not submit to a cowhiding." 

" Well," said the snorting warrior, " he will have to stand it this 
time, for I am going to administer it." 

So he started off" in the direction of Brownlow's printing office. 



lOO JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

There he was told that the editor had gone to the river to look 
after some lumber. He swaggered on in hot pursuit. Brownlow 
observed his coming. When the wordy duel began, Brownlow 
kept backing until he reached the water's edge, in which he had 
observed a long-handled mallet, such as lumbermen use. When 
the first stroke of the cowhide came down, he instantly seized the 
mallet and struck the assailant apparently lifeless at his feet. Feel- 
ing that he had repelled the insult, he did not strike a second blow. 
Some one passing by ran to the spot, picked up the apparently life- 
less body, threw water into his face, and revived him sufficiently 
to place him in a sitting position against a log. At length, looking 
down on his bloody garments, then directly into the face of his 
opponent, who still remained, he blurted out: 

"Well, you are a pretty preacher!" 

"At any rate," responded Brownlow, "lam pretty successful. 
It has not taken me long to bring one mourner to the bench." 

This prayer was kept standing in the Whig until it was sup- 
pressed by the Confederate authorities : 

Almighty God, our Heavenly Father, in whose hands are the 
hearts of men and the issues of time and eternity, not mixed up 
with Locofocoism nor rendered offensive in Thy sight by being iden- 
tified with men of corrupt minds, evil designs, and damnable pur- 
poses, such as are seeking to upturn the best Government on earth, 
Thou hast graciously promised to hear the prayers of those who in 
an humble spirit and with true faith — such as no secessionist can 
bring into exercise — call upon Thee. Be pleased, we beseech Thee, 
favorably to look upon and bless the Union men of this Common- 
wealth and sustain them in their praiseworthy efforts to perpetuate 
this Government and, under it, the institutions of our holy religion. 
Possess their minds with the spirit of true patriotism, enlightened 
wisdom and of persevering hostility toward those traitors, political 
gamblers, and selfish demagogues who are seeking to build up a 
miserable Southern Confederacy, and under it to inaugurate a new 
reading of the Ten Commandments, so as to teach that the chief 
end of man is nigger. In these days of trouble and perplexity, give 
the common people grace to perceive the right path, which. Thou 
knowest, leads from the camps of Southern madcaps and Northern 
copperheads, and enable them steadfastly to walk therein. So 
strengthen the common masses, O Lord, and so direct them that, 
they being hindered neither by the fear of fire-eaters nor by the 



BROWNLOW. lOI 

love of the corrupt men in power, nor by bribery, nor by any over- 
charge of mean whisky, nor by any other Democratic passion, but 
being mindful of Thy constant superintendeacc, of the awful maj- 
esty of Thy righteousness, of Thy hatred of Democracy and its 
profligate leaders, and of the strict account they must hereafter 
give to Thee, they may, in counsel, word, and deed, aim supremely 
at the fulfillment of their duty, which is to talk, vote, and pray 
against the wicked leaders and ungodly advocates of secession- 
Grant that those of Thy professed ministers who are mixed up with 
with modern Democracy and have become so hardened in sin as to 
openly advocate the vile delusion may speedily abandon their un- 
ministerial ways or go over to the cause of the devil; that their 
positions may at least be unequivocal, and that they may thereby 
advance the welfare of the country! And grant that these fire-eaters 
may soon run their race; that the course of this world may be so 
peaceably ordered by Thy superintendence that Thy church and 
Thy whole people, irrespective of sects, may joyfully serve Thee, 
in all good conscience and godly quietness, through Jesus Christ, 
our Lord. Amen! 

A gentleman in Arkansas wrote to the '' Parson " and wished 
to know when he would join the Democratic party. 

The following letter and reply will, no doubt, enlighten the 

reader, as it did Mr. Clark : 

Camden, Ark.,/««^3o, i860. 
W. G. Brownlow. 

Dear Sir: I have learned with pleasure, upon what I consider 
reliable authority, that you have made up your mind to join the 
Democratic party and in the future act with us for the benefit of the 
country. When will you come out and announce it? It will have 
a good effect in the present election if you will make it known over 
your own signature. 

Hoping to hear from you, I am very truly, yours, 

Jordan Clark. 

THE reply. 

Knoxville, Tenn., July 6, i860. 
Mr. Jordan Clark. 

Dear Sir: I have your letter of June 30, and I hasten to let you 
know the precise time when I expect to come out and formally 
announce that I have joined the Democratic party. When the sun 



I02 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

shines at midnight and the moon at midday; when man forgets to 
be selfish or Democrats lose their inclination to steal; when nature 
stops her onward march to rest, or all the water courses in America 
flow up stream; when flowers lose their odor and trees shed no 
leaves; when birds talk and beasts of burden laugh; when damned 
spirits swap hell for Heaven with the angels of light and pay them 
the boot in mean whisky; when impossibilities are in fashion and 
no proposition is too absurd to be believed — then you may credit 
the report that I have joined the Democratic party. 

I join the Democrats ! Never; so long as there are sects in 
churches, weeds in gardens, fleas in hog pens, dirt in victuals, dis- 
putes in families, wars with nations, water in the ocean, bad men 
in America, or base women in France. No, Jordan Clark, you may 
hope, you may congratulate, you may reason, you may sneer, but 
that cannot be. The thrones of the Old World, the courts of the 
universe, the governments of men, may all fall and crumble into 
ruin; the New World may commit the national suicide of dissolv- 
ing this Union, but all this and more must occur before I join the 
Democracy. 

I join the Democrats! Jordan Clark, you know not what you 
say. When I join Democracy, the Pope of Rome will join the 
Methodist Church. When Jordan Clark, of Arkansas, is president 
of the Republic of Great Britain, by the universal suff"rage of a con- 
tented people; when Queen Victoria consents to be divorced from 
Prince Albert by a county court in Kansas; when Congress obliges 
by law James Buchanan to marry an European princess; when the 
Pope leases the Capitol at Washington for his city residence; when 
Alexander of Russia and Napoleon of France are elected Senators 
in Congress from New Mexico; when good men cease to go to 
Heaven or bad men to hell; when this world is turned upside down; 
when proof is afforded, clear and unquestionable, that there is no 
God; when men turn to ants, and ants to elephants — then I will 
change my political faith and come out on the side of Democracy! 

Supposing that this full and frank letter will enable you to fix 
upon the period when 1 will come out a full-grown Democrat, and 
requesting you to communicate the same to all whom it may con- 
cern in Arkansas, I am, yours truly, 

W. G. BROWNLOW. 

The following address, written to his countrymen under the 
shadow of the scaffold while in the Knox ville jail, is unparalleled, 



BROWNLOW. 103 

save by the speech of Robert Emmet before his sentence of 
death by the minion of a tyrant : 

Fellow-Countrymen : I have often addressed many of you 
upon different topics, but never under circumstances Hke those 
which now surround me, as I feel that I am speaking for the last 
time. I suppose I have been sentenced to hang by a court-martial 
sitting in this city; I say I suppose so, for I have never had any 
trial, or even a notice of a trial being in progress. It is alike a 
matter of indifference whether I was tried by that court-martial in 
my absence and in the absence of witnesses and counsel, or 
whether I had been present; the result would have been death. 
Justice at the hands of such unmitigated scosndrels and ruffians is 
the last thing I would expect. Indeed, there is more glory in being 
put to death by such men than in being acquitted, after going 
through the forms of trial. 

Fellow-countrymen, I am shortly to be executed — not for any 
crime, but for my devotion to my country, her laws and Constitu- 
tion. I die for refusing to espouse the cause of this wicked rebel- 
lion; and I glory in it, strange as you may think it. I could have 
lived, if I had taken an oath of allegiance to this so-called Confed- 
eracy. Rather than stultify myself and disgrace my family by such 
an oath, I agree to die. I never could sanction this so-called gov- 
ernment, and I trust that no child of mine will ever do it. * * * 
I have a word to say as to my family. I want the minds of my (vife 
and children impressed with what is true— that they are not dis- 
graced, but honored by my death. Let me be shrouded in the 
sacred folds of the star-spangled banner; and let my children's chil- 
dren know that the last words I uttered on earth were — 
'• Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe, but falls before us. 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet. 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!" 



CHAPTER XII. 



FATHER RYAN AND HENRY STANTON. 
TWO SOUTHERN POETS. 

Rev. Abram J. Ryan, the poet priest of the South, was a 
remarkable genius in the way of alHterative lines and poetic 
periods. He was born in Norfolk, Va., studied for the priest- 
hood, and lived for many years in Mobile, Ala. When the 
civil war broke out he threw his fortunes with the Confederacy 
and remained as a chaplain to the close of the conflict, minis- 
tering alike to friend and foe on the bloody battlefields of the 
rebellion. 

In the winter of 1868 I met the illustrious prelate and poet at 
Barnum's Hotel, in Baltimore, after one of his lectures in the 
Monumental City. 

He possessed a fine form, round, broad head, long, dark hair, 
and large bluish gray eyes, and a countenance as open and de- 
voted as the dawn. Benevolence shone in every lineament of 
his full face, yet at intervals a melancholy shade o'erhung his 
brow. 

In company with a few of his friends we adjourned to a pri- 
vate parlor and had a social seance that lasted until the clock 
in the tower struck the midnight hour. His two friends had 
served with him during the war, and of course many fond recol- 
lections were called to mind ; and, while I served and bled on 
the battlefield for ** Uncle Sam," it put no damper on the talk 
of these Southern warriors. 

The ease with which Father Ryan received and entertained 
me may be accounted for by the fact that he and my uncle, 
Father John Joyce, of Maysville, Ky., were very intimate friends 
for many years. 
(104) 



RYAN AND STANTON. I05 

We requested the genial and generous priest to recite to us 
some of his noted productions, and without hesitation he dehv 
ered — 

THE CONQUERED BANNER. 

" Furl that banner, for 'tis weary, 
Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary — 
Furl it, fold it, it is best; 
For there's not a man to wave it, 
And there's not a sword to save it, 
And there's not one left to love it 
In the blood which heroes gave it; 
And its foes now scorn and brave it; 
Furl it, hide it, let it rest. 

•• Take the banner down! 'tis tattered; 
Broken is its staff and shattered; 
And the valiant hosts are scattered 
Over whom it floated high. 
Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it. 
Hard to think there's none to hold it; 
Hard that those who once unrolled it 
Now must furl it with a sigh. 

** Furl that banner, furl it sadly! 
Once ten thousand hailed it gladly 
And ten thousand wildly, madly, 
Swore it should forever wave, 
Swore that foeman's sword should nevei 
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever 
Till that flag should float forever 
O'er their freedom or their grave. 

" Furl it, for the hands that grasped it 
And the hearts that fondly clasped it, 
Cold and dead are lying low; 
And that banner — it is trailing. 
While around it sounds the wailing 
Of its people and their woe. 

" For, though conquered, they adore it! 
Love the cold, dead hands that bore it! 
Weep for those who fell before it! 



I06 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Pardon those who trailed and tore it! 
But, oh! wildly they deplore it, 
We who furl and fold it so. 

" Furl that banner; true 'tis gory; 
Yet it's wreathed around with glory, 
And 'twill live in song and story, 
Though its folds are in the dust; 
For its fame on brightest pages 
Penned by poets and by sages, 
Shall go sounding down the ages — 
Furl its folds though now we must! 

" Furl that banner, softly, slowly! 
Treat it gently — it is holy — 
For it droops above their head — 
Touch it not — unfurl it never, 
Let it droop there, furled forever — 
For its people's hopes are dead!" 



Henry T. Stanton is the son of Hon. Richard Stanton, of 
Maysville, Ky., who was a distinguished lawyer and a member 
of Congress before the late civil war. 

When a boy, attending school at my uncle's cathedral, I 
remember the embryo poet in connection with some of my 
playmates, who were of the Pierce, Pointz, Goddard, and Arm- 
stong families. 

More than thirty years from school days had elapsed in 1886, 
when I made a lecture tour through Kentucky, taking in Owings- 
ville, Mount Sterling, Winchester, Carlisle, Paris, Lexington, 
Frankfort, and Louisville. While staying at the Capital Hotel, 
at Frankfort, I learned through Gen. Dexter Keogh that the 
poet Stanton was connected with the superintendent of public 
instructions and had an office in the Capitol building. We called 
on the jolly, round, and genial genius and spent a pleasant hour 
discoursing about old times at Maysville, and naturally drifted 
into literary topics. I referred to the poet's books and praised 
in no unmeasured terms his celebrated poem, " The Moneyless 
Man," and requested him to recite it. He repeated it as follows 



RYAN AND STANTON. I07 

in a very impressive manner ; and I must say, right here, that 
I fail to find in all human literature a more incisive, truthful, 
pathetic, and philosophic poem : 

" Is there no place on the face of the earth 
Where charity dwelleth, where virtue has birth, 
Where bosoms in mercy and kindness will heave, 
Where the poor and the wretched shall ask and receive? 
Is there no place at all where a knock from the poor 
Will bring a kind angel to open the door? 
Ah! search the wide world wherever you can, 
There's no open door for a moneyless man. 

" Go look in yon hall, where the chandelier's light 
Drives off with its splendor the darkness of night, 
Where the rich hanging velvet in shadowy fold 
Sweeps gracefully down with its trimmings of gold. 
And the mirrors of silver take up and renew 
In long lighted vistas the wildering view ! 
Go there at the banquet and find if you can 
A welcoming smile for a moneyless man. 

*' Go look in yon church of the cloud-reaching spire. 
Which gives to the sun his same look of red fire. 
Where the arches and columns are gorgeous within, 
And the walls seem as pure as a soul without sin; 
Walk down the long isle; see the rich and the great 
In the pomp and the pride of their worldly estate; 
Walk down in your patches and find, if you can, 
Who opens a pew to a moneyless man. 

" Go look in the banks, where Mammon has told 
His hundreds and thousands in silver and gold; 
Where safe from the hands of the starving and poor 
Lies pile upon pile of the glittering .ore. 
Walk up to the counter; ah! there you may 'stay 
Till your limbs grow old, till your hairs grow gray; 
And you'll find at the banks not one of the clan 
With money to loan to a moneyless man. 

" Go look at yon judge in his dark flowing gown. 
With the scales wherein law weigheth equity down; 
Where he frowns on the weak and smiles on the strong. 



I08 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

And punishes right while he justifies wrong; 
Where juries their lips to the Bible have laid 
To render a verdict they've already made — 
Go there in the court-room and find, if you can, 
Any law for the cause of a moneyless man. 

" Then go to your hovel — no raven has fed 
The wife who has suffered too long for her bread; 
Kneel down by her pallet and kiss the death frost 
From the lips of the angel your poverty lost; 
Then turn in your agony upward to God, 
And bless, while it smites you, the chastening rod. 
And you'll find at the end of your life's little span — 
There's a welcome above for the moneyless man ! " 





--*<»^te.. 






^ 








• 



Genl. John C. Breckinridge. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



JOHN C. BRECKINRIDGE. 

John Cabell Breckinridge was bom near Lexington, 
Ky., on the 21st of January, 1821. His ancestors were from 
Virginia, and his grandfather was Attorney-General under the 
administration of President Jefferson, and afterwards a United 
States Senator from the State of Kentucky. Breckinridge 
received a classical education at Center College, Danville, and 
studied law at Transylvania University, Lexington. 

He practiced his profession successfully for years before the 
Mexican war, and participated in that conflict toward its close 
as major of the Third Kentucky Infantry Volunteers. On his 
return from the Army he was elected to the State legislature and 
afterward nominated for Congress, defeating by a narrow ma- 
jority the celebrated Leslie Combs, boy captain of the war ot 
181 2. He next defeated Governor Letcher, riding triumph- 
antly over every political competitor, the young Democracy 
of his district rallying their forces against the best blood of the 
old Whigs, who had been so successful under the leadership of 
Henry Clay. 

Breckinridge was about six feet one, muscular form, straight 
as an arrow, high round forehead, bluish gray eyes, firm lips 
and chin, and a sonorous musical voice that sent its ringing tones 
to the outer edge of an audience. The rising and falling inflec- 
tions of his voice, where anger or pathos was intended, combined 
with magnetic gesticulation, acted on the listeners like some 
spiritual spell, swaying the mind and even body with the wand 
of a master of universal eloquence. 

A few years after the Mexican war the State of Kentucky 

(109) 



no JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

voted an appropriation of several thousand dollars to exhume 
and bring back the bodies of her heroic sons who fell on the 
plains and mountains of Mexico. A magnificent marble shaft, 
fifty feet high, resting on a broad pedestal, with the names of 
the soldiers and officers inscribed thereon, was in due time un- 
veiled at the romantic cemetery in Frankfort, the capital of the 
State. 

John C. Breckinridge was selected to deliver the eulogium 
over the remains of his dead comrades. With words of burn- 
ing eloquence and mournful memories he inspired the patriotism 
of the assembled multitude, and those who heard his grand ora- 
tion will never forget its lofty periods and sententious philosophy. 

Theodore O'Harra was selected to deliver the poem, " The 
Bivouac of the Dead," one of the finest tributes in English lit- 
erature to the memory of dead soldiers — a classic thought that 
will shine down the ages and thrill the hearts of mankind with 
patriotic veneration for those who fight and fall for home and 
country. These lines will be immortal : 

" Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, 

Dear as the blood ye gave! 
No impious footsteps here shall tread 

The herbao:e of your grave; 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 

While fame her record keeps, 
Or Honor points the hallowed spot 

Where Valor proudly sleeps. 

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone, 

In deathless song shall tell, 
When many a vanished year hath flown, 

The story how ye fell; 
Nor wreck nor change nor winter's blight, 

Nor Time's remorseless doom. 
Can dim one ray of holy light 

That gilds your glorious tomb!" 

On the 4th of July, 1886, I visited the Frankfort Cemetery m 
company with General Dexter Keogh and pondered at cele- 



BRECKINRIDGE. Ill 

brated tombs around the great monument, such as Daniel 
Boone, Colonels McKee and Clay, and the Celtic poet, O'Harra. 
I penciled these lines to the latter's memory : 

T stood at the grave of O'Harra, 
And plucked a sweet clover in bloom; 

Sent a sigh to the soul of the poet, 
And wept over Memory's tomb. 

I heard in the voice of the forest 
The songs that the poets would sing, 

And caught every tone of his lyre, 
Like the whirr of a bird on tlie wing. 

Yet sadly I sighed for O'Harra, 

And knelt at the shrine of his fame, 

And longed for the holy communion 
That circled the sound of his nameJ 

In the halls of Congress Breckinridge took the stand of a 
leader at once, although barely of legal age. His affability, 
generosity, and manly sentiments endeared him even to his 
opponents, and while his Democracy was unquestioned he never 
hit the enemy below the belt or shot the poisoned arrows of 
spite. What he said and did was above board, and while the 
petty politicians of his party might strike with the dagger of an 
assassin he wielded the claymore of conscience and conviction. 

Breckinridge was a generous and lavish entertainer of friends 
and the public. He was a particular favorite of the ladies. His 
manly form, bright eye, and eloquent tongue fascinated all who 
met him, and had his lot been cast about the waters of the 
Golden Horn he might have been a Grand Vizier and led a 
corps of Oriental beauties in his royal train ! 

On the death of Henry Clay at the National Hotel, Wash- 
ington, fn June, 1852, Breckinridge announced the sad event to 
his compeers in Congress. Although many eulogies were de- 
livered in the Senate and House by noted Whigs and Demo- 
crats, there were none that struck a loftier flight than that of the 
youg Mirabeau from the Lexington district in memory of the 



112 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

sage of Ashland. This tribute to the memory of the great Clay 
might be truthfully uttered over the remains of Breckinridge 
himself: 

In him intellect, person, eloquence, and courage united to form 
a character fitted to command. He fired with his own enthusiasm 
and controlled by his amazing will individuals and masses. No 
reverse could crush his spirit, nor defeat reduce him to despair. 

And to cap the climax of the eulogium the orator, like an 
an eagle, soars thusly into the Alpine crags of thought : 

The glory of his great actions shed a mellow luster on his declin- 
ing years, and, to fill the measure of his fame, his countrymen, 
weaving for him the laurel wreath, with common hands bind it 
about his venerable brows and send him crowned to history. 

Breckinridge, like a well-rooted white ash of his native State, 
continued to grow in political power, and was nominated and 
elected Vice President of the United States in conjunction with 
President Buchanan. As presiding officer of the Senate he 
gave the greatest satisfaction to both parties and held the scales 
of justice with an unbiased hand. 

The Presidential campaign of i860 found him the champion 
of his party, carrying the laurels away from the " Little Giant " 
Douglass in the Charleston Convention, where Democracy broke 
in twain and made the election of Abraham Lincoln certain — 
another case of a house divided against itself, and the usual result 
of failure. 

The winter and spring of i860 and 1861 found the Congress 
of the United States and the whole country in the seething 
throes of impulsive rebellion. State after State in the South 
passed ordinances of secession, withdrawing their allegiance 
from the Union, and finally elected Jefferson Davis and Mr. 
Alex. Stephens executive officers of the new Confederacy. Sec- 
tions and platoons of Southern Senators and Representatives 
withdrew from their seats in Congress, after a futile attempt to 
":onvince the North of the justice of their cause. Officers of the 
regular Army and Navy, imitating the examples of Generals 



BRECKINRIDGE. II3 

Lee and Twiggs and Commodore Buchanan and Captain 
Semmes, severed their connection with the Government and 
rushed into the wild vortex of rebellion. Senator John J. Crit- 
tenden, from Kentucky, and a large number of his compeers 
oifered a compromise, but to no purpose, and soon the abortive 
neutrality of Kentucky was swept aside, when citizens enlisted 
directly for the Union or Confederacy. Breckinridge remained 
about Washington as long as he could, but soon Powell and 
himself saw that action was imperatively necessary, and they 
returned to Kentucky in the spring of 1861. 

Lincoln was now at the national helm, and poor old Buchanan 
had gone to grass in the Keystone State, like another broken 
Wolsey, who " fell like Lucifer, never to hope again " from the 
public, his master. 

The summer and fall of 1861 found Kentucky a camping 
ground of war, with its citizens divided against each other to 
the death, brother against brother and father against son — the 
terrible situation of civil war. Gens. Humphrey Marshall and 
" Cerro Cordo " Williams had established a Confederate camp 
at Prestonsburgh, in the mountains near the Virginia line, and 
Gen. WilHam Nelson had established a Union camp on the 
Kentucky River, near Nicholas ville, and " Camp Dick Robin- 
son," near Danville, where the cavalry and infantry for the Gov- 
ernment could organize for fight. Gen. Simon Boliver Buck- 
ner also established camps for Confederates at Bowling Green 
and Russellville. A Union camp was established at the Olym- 
pian Springs, in Bath County, where the Twenty-fourth Ken- 
tucky was organized under the command of Col. L. B. Grigsby 
and Major J. S. Hurt, who afterward commanded the regiment 
to the close of the rebellion. 

Matters were getting very hot as the summer of 1861 pro- 
ceeded, and Breckinridge knew it was time to leave his State 
and enlist for the Confederacy, most of his political confreres 
having already gone over the mountains to join their friends in 
Virginia. Like Lee, his heart was never in favor of breaking 



114 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Up the Union, but past personal and political associations drew 
him like a magnet into all the future hardships and failures of 
the civil war and kept him there to the end as General and Sec- 
retary of War, but, like Bolingbroke, he was finally compelled 
to wander for many years as an exile in foreign lands. 

His escape with four companions after the fall of the Confed- 
eracy, in April, 1865, through the forests of Carolina and Georgia, 
the rivers and everglades of Florida, and 200 miles in an open 
boat across the stormy Gulf of Mexico to Cuba, reads more 
like a Viking romance than a reality. 

The last epeech made by Breckinridge on his way to Virginia 
to join the Confederacy was delivered at Mount Sterling, Ky. 
People from the surrounding counties came to hear what the 
champion of the Southern cause might say. He spoke in the 
court-house for more than two hours to a large and sympathetic 
audience. About the close of his remarks I elbowed my way 
through the crowd to hear the orator, not that I sympathized 
with the meeting, but to listen to a famous man. His perora- 
tion was a flash of impassioned eloquence and made the deep- 
est impression on the great mass meeting. It was indelibly im- 
pressed on my mind, and was uttered in about these words : 

And now, Kentuckians, I appeal to you to stand by your State 
and your Southern brothers, who have taken up the gauge of battle 
to hurl back the Goths and Vandals of the North, who are now 
marching down to desolate our sacred soil and murder our people 
in the name of liberty. Do not be deceived that this war will be a 
holiday affair, or that the enemy will falter until their last man and 
dollar are thrown into the vortex of this civil conflict. Be not de- 
luded that one Southern gentleman can whip five Yankees. I 
tell you now that each one of Lincoln's soldiers will be a match for 
any of our men, and that man is a fool who underrates the power 
'of the North and its unlimited resources. Yet, with right on 
our side, in defense of our property and people, and the god of 
battles smiling on the cause of the just, I have an abiding faith that 
we shall achieve our independence and cut loose from the Abolition 
conclave of the North, who are determined to free our slaves and 
make them the equal of their masters. Nature and her laws nevei 



BRECKINRIDGE. II5 

made the black man the equal of the white, and all the power of 
our enemies, now or hereafter, shall never make us consent to the 
outrageous and unnatural proposition. 

Kentucky has never flinched on the field of battle. From the 
early pioneer days of the red savage at Fort Bryan and Blue Lick 
to the snowy fields of the River Raisin in Canada, the cotton bags 
at New Orleans, the waters of Tippecanoe, the everglades of Flor- 
ida, the plains of Buena Vista on to the halls of the Montezumas, 
the bones of our fearless and valiant people lie bleaching as a grand 
testimonial to their bravery and patriotism. I implore you, then, 
my beloved Kentuckians, to rouse up your slumbering energies, 
shake up your lion hearts, and come to the rescue of your native 
land. 

In the summer of 1872 I spent ten days at the West End 
Hotel, at Long Branch, with my family. General Breckinridge 
happened to be staying at the same hotel, enjoying the bathing, 
driving, racing, and social cheer that clustered around that noted 
watering place. He had but recently returned from exile, and 
after a separation of eleven years we renewed the introduction 
of Col. Thomas Johnson, of Mount SterHng. We naturally 
gravitated together, for it is a well-known fact that, while Ken- 
tuckians are eminently hospitable and friendly to strangers, there 
is a clannishness and State pride among themselves that no 
enmity can blighten and no sorrow or defeat chill or destroy. 
The land of fair women, fast horses, brave men, and pure whisky 
challenges mankind for its match, and so long as its limestone 
formation remains and its everlasting springs run to the sea the 
Blue Grass State will be found at the front with its generous 
heart and hand held out to all the world. 

The General, myself, and family became very intimate, and 
with bathing, driving, dining, and attending the summer races 
at Monmouth Park, our time was spent in a round of profitable 
pleasure. He was courted on all sides, and whenever he ap- 
peared on the porches, balconies, clubs, or race tracks the 
world seemed to recognize an illustrious man. Evening after 
evening we'd chat after dinner, or walk over to " Daily's " or 
** Chamberlain's " clubs to while away a few hours in meeting 



Il6 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

old friends or taking a turn at the wheel of fortune to pay for 
the fine bird suppers of these noted entertainers. 

One morning the General asked me to walk over to Grant's 
cottage, only a few blocks away, saying that he had never met 
the President. At the time I occupied a public office under 
General Grant and was on friendly terms with him. On our 
route I called at the cottage of Gen. O. E. Babcock and asked 
him to accompany us to see the President. It was about 1 1 
o'clock in the morning when we were ushered in through the 
center hall and out on the broad porch, where I found General 
Grant alone, smoking and reading a newspaper. I introduced 
him to General Breckinridge, when we were asked to be seated, 
and for an hour or more these two noted men talked of the past 
and current events as if nothing had disturbed the equanimity 
of their historic recollections. Before taking our departure 
"Jerry" brought in three mint julips, and Breckinridge pro- 
posed a toast to the United States, which we drank standing. 

The night beiore I left Long Branch for the West Breckin- 
ridge and myself had been over at Chamberlain's until after 
midnight. On our return to the hotel he asked me to sit down 
on the porch and look upon the roaring ocean and the brilliant 
stars that glittered in their eternal realm. His heart was seem- 
ingly surcharged with the memories of vanished years, for he 
spoke pathetically and eloquently for more than an hour. I, 
too, referred to the past and particularly to his speech at Mount 
Sterling, concluding by asking him how he really felt as to the 
result of the war. "Ah," said he, "Joyce, it is all right and 
far better that we still live as one people than be torn into frag- 
ments by the minions of princes, kings, and emperors. Many 
a lonely hour I have spent in midnight moments on the streets 
of London and Paris awaiting the time that I could once again 
catch a glimpse of the Stars and Stripes, the flag of my fathers, 
and all I now wish is to sleep forever beneath its God-given 
folds." 

His wish has been granted. For many years the suns of 



BRECKINRIDGE. II7 

summer and the snows of winter have enwrapped his sacred 
dust at Lexington, Ky,, under the shadow of the magnificent 
monument erected to the memory of his friend, Henry Clay; 
and his own heroic statue stands in front of the court house 
that once echoed to his eloquent periods in behalf of liberty and 
justice. 

** Green be the turf above thee. 
Friend of my better days; 
None knew thee but to love thee, 
Nor named thee but to praise!'' 



CHAPTER XIV. 



GEN. NATHANIEL BEDFORD FORREST. 

The eagle of the air, the tiger of the land, and the shark of 
the sea are by nature made for combat and are instruments of 
destruction in the hands of that Mysterious Power that rules 
the globe and all the unknown worlds beyond the sun and stars. 

So are some men created natural warriors for the destruction 
of their fellows, like Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte, 
" Stonewall " Jackson, Phil. Sheridan, and Forrest, the slave 
trader. Yet Alexander was trained for war under the eye of 
his illustrious father, Philip of Macedon. Napoleon was schooled 
in the Military Institute of France, while Forrest, one of the 
greatest cavalry officers of the late Confederacy, was reared on 
a farm with an axe, a plough, and a horse as training instruments 
of his military glory and received only the bare rudiments of a 
country education. 

Forrest was a magnetic man, standing stalwart and erect, six 
feet one inch, broad shouldered, long arms, high round fore- 
head, dark gray eyes, a prominent nose, emphatic jaw, com- 
pressed lips and a mustache, setting off a face that said to all 
the world; " Out of my way, I'm coming ! " 

His step was firm, action impulsive, voice sonorous, and, 
taken all in all, there was not a soldier of the Confederacy that 
acted with more celerity or effective force from the 14th of 
June, 1 86 1, when he became a private at Memphis, to the 9th of 
June, 1865, at Gainesville, Ala., where he surrendered as Lieu- 
tenant General to the United States authorities. 

To determine with Forrest was to act, and the flash of his 
saber at the head of his column, charging the cavalry or infantry 
(118) 



FORREST. 119 

of the enemy, inspired his troops with the sunHght of victory, 
and they dashed into battle Hke the audacious warriors of Na- 
poleon on the field of Austerlitz. 

Forrest was born at Chapel Hill, Bedford County, Tenn., on 
the 13th of July, 1821. His paternal ancestors came from Eng- 
land and Scotland, while his maternal were of Irish blood. 

When sixteen years of age his father died, leaving a widow 
and ten children, our subject being the eldest, who at once took 
charge of a farm in Mississippi and assisted his plucky mother 
to rear the weak brood that looked to them for support. Work 
was so imperative that young Forrest had but little chance for 
an education, attending for a few winter months the log school- 
houses of his rural section, where the teachers knew litde more 
than their pupils. 

Country sports, such as dances, barbecues, horse races, and 
sometimes feud fights were all the recreations that Nathan in- 
dulged in, yet whenever he appeared in a fight or a horse race 
he invariably came out victorious. 

At the age of twenty-five Forrest married Mary Ann Mont- 
gomery, a direct descendant of the gallant Irish general who 
fell on the heights of Quebec in December, 1775. 

While living at Hernando, Miss., in March, 1845, doing a 
general trading business, he was attacked on the public square 
by four planters for some quarrel that he had assumed for an 
uncle. Thirteen shots were exchanged. Forrest wounded 
three of his assailants and drove the other from the field. He 
moved to Memphis in 1852, and began trading in real estate 
and continued cotton planting and slave trading. About this 
time he was blown up in a steamboat, but providentially escaped, 
while sixty other pasengers were lost. 

The most heroic thing ever done by Forrest was his rescue 
of young Abel, who had killed a friend in a family quarrel, from 
the hands of a Memphis mob of 3,000 infuriated men, who 
dragged the boy from jail, swung a rope around his neck, and 
were on the point of hoisting him over a beam when this intrepid 



I20 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

citizen rushed through the frantic crowd, drew his Bowie knife, 
cut the rope, and hurried the intended victim back to jail, where 
the mob followed and still demanded blood. 

Forrest jumped upon the jail steps, drew a revolver, and swore 
he would kill the first man that attempted to enter, and then and 
there that lone hero with truth and law on his side conquered a 
howling, desperate mob ! There was nothing in his subsequent 
career that equaled this for desperate, sublime courage — such as 
Winkleried displayed when he threw himself on the Austrian 
spears or Leonidas blocking the pass of Thermopylae with his 
his immortal three hundred. 

I was introduced to General Forrest and Col. Roger Hanson 
at Mount Sterling, Ky., in the summer of 1861, where he came 
to secretly recruit for the Southern Army and procure arms. 
He was a splendid specimen of manhood, and no wonder some 
of the chivalric Kentucky bloods followed him back to Ten- 
nessee, where he led them and thousands of others in many a 
hard-fought battle. 

Forrest was in the trap of Fort Donelson the night before 
Buckner surrendered to the unconquerable Grant, but before 
daylight he escaped with his command through the Federal 
lines like a hawk evading the swoop of an eagle. 

For more than two years after this event he participated in all 
the great battles of the West and South, charging with reckless- 
ness at Shiloh, dashing and ubiquitous at Chickamauga, desper- 
ate and successful at Murfreesboro and Franklin, until his final 
surrender as Lieutenant General of the vanquished Confederacy. 
His successful dash into Memphis in the face of Federal power, 
his capture of gunboats with a cavalry force, and his destruction 
of military stores are familiar to the historian. The only blot 
upon his escutcheon as a soldier is the massacre of the blacks at 
Fort Pillow, which has been laid directly at the door of General 
Chalmers, Forrest's subordinate, although denied by that officer. 

One great secret of General Forrest's success can be traced 
to the keen knowledge he had of men, for in the selection of his 



FORREST. 121 

subordinates, such as Wheeler, Pegram, Chalmers, Bell, Buford, 
Rucker, Lyon, Jackson, Roddy, Wirt, Adams, and the dashing 
Gen. Frank Armstrong, he displayed great military genius, 
securing men who had their heart in their work and were willing 
at a moment's notice, in sunshine or storm, to die for their cause 
and commander. The immediate staff of General Forrest were 
also as loyal as death and never hesitated to carry an order to 
t: e most perilous point of battle. Such is the stuff that real 
soldiers are made of, whether fighting in the Macedonian pha- 
lanx with Alexander, in the legions of Caesar, the squares of 
Napoleon, the columns of Skobeleff, or the corps of Grant and 
Lee. Long live the real heroic soldier, who fights and dies for 
what he believes the right in any land or clime ! They have 
ever been monumented in marble and bronze in all ages, and 
shall be while mankind honors truth and valor. 

I met Forrest a short time before he died, at the Overton 
House, in Memphis, and talked over the late war, reminding 
him of our first meeting at Mount Sterling. He spoke with a 
measured, melancholy tone, and asked me during the conversa- 
tion what I thought his most successful military achievement. 

I told him frankly that his military order disbanding his sol- 
diers, the last to surrender, at Gainesville on the 9th of May, 
a month after Lee's surrender, was the best act of his life ! He 
smiled, a far-off smile, and said "All right." 

The following sentences from his farewell order will show the 
truth and courage of the man : " Soldiers, that we are beaten 
is a self-evident fact, and any further resistance on our part 
would be justly regarded as the very height of folly and rash- 
ness. * * ={= Xhe terms of our surrender manifest a spirit of 
magnanimity and liberality on the part of the Federal authorities, 
which should be met on our part by a faithful compliance with 
all the stipulations and conditions therein expressed j * * * 
You have been good soldiers ; you can be good citizens. Obey 
the laws, preserve your honor, and the Government to which 
you have surrendered can afford to be, and will be magnanimous!" 



122 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

These are noble words, from an honest and heroic foe, and 
they should be memorized and pasted in the sombrero of some 
of the soldiers and citizens who followed in the wake of the 
" lost cause." 

I fought for more than three years against General Forrest 
and his courageous comrades, and under like circumstance 
would gladly do so again, but I can say truthfully that I never 
met a genuine, blood-battlefield Confederate soldier that was 
sorry for the death of slavery or the re- establishment of our 
God-given Union ! 

Over the ashes of Forrest 

Let flowers of freshness wave; 
He was faithful, bold, and honest — 

Generous, manly, and brave! 



CHAPTER XV. 



"CORPORAL" TANNER. 

I FIRST met James Tanner ten years ago at a banquet given 
by the Knights of St. Patrick at the Academy of Music in 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Thomas Kinsella, the editor of the Eagle, was the president 
of the association and one of the most popular men in the City 
of Churches. Some 300 guests sat down at the feast. Among 
the set speakers for the evening were Mayor Lowe, Henry Ward 
Beecher, Stewart L. Woodford, " Corporal " Tanner, myself, 
and others. 

Mayor Lowe's speech to the " City of Brooklyn " was pointed, 
concise, and intelligent. Beecher's speech on " Religion " was 
faultless, philosophic, and grand. General Woodford, to the 
" President of the United States," spoke with intense eloquence. 
" Corporal " Tanner launched away in sonorous style in eulo- 
gistic terms of the " Union Soldiers " and received spontaneous 
applause, while I wound up the formal toasts in a compliment 
to " Woman." 

I was much impressed with the " Corporal," having heard of 
him so often in connection with Grand Army encampments 
and as the constant and never-failing friend of a soldier. 

At the age of seventeen, in 1 861, he enlisted from his father's 
farm, in Schoharie County, in the Eighty-seventh New York 
Regiment. He served under the heroic Phil. Kearney, and at 
the second battle of Bull Run had both of his feet blown off, and 
from that day to this, more than thirty -two years, has suffered 
untold torture, uncomplaining as an ancient philosopher. 

For many years he was collector of taxes for the city of 
Brooklyn, and gave universal satisfaction to his .fellow-citizens. 

(123) 



124 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

He has also lectured on several occasions for Grand Army and 
social circles, and has never failed to interest his audience or 
elicit their generous applause. 

" Corporal " Tanner stands about five feet ten, stalwart in body, 
with a large round head, set firmly on square shoulders, and 
crowned with a suit of stubborn gray hair. His eyes are of a 
bluish gray, prominent nose, firm lips surmounted with a brist- 
ling mustache, emphatic chin, and a full, open countenance that 
would attract any beholder. 

In the Harrison campaign in Indiana he did more to carry 
the State for his party chief than any man in that Common- 
wealth, for wherever he was advertised to speak the old soldiers 
turned out en masse to hear the noted corporal. 

For this service the leaders of the Republican party insisted 
that President Harrison should appoint him Pension Commis- 
sioner, which was finally done. His love for the old soldiers, 
whose claims had lain for so long in the pigeon-holes of the 
Department, from two to twenty-five years, soon showed itself 
in a speedy settlement of thousands of meritorious cases. But 
his liberal and generous construction of the pension laws in re- 
rating and increasing their allowance soon brought down upon 
his devoted head the criticism of former foes, political cowards 
and bloated bondholders, men who took advantage of the Gov- 
ernment's necessity in its financial strait while " Corporal " Tan- 
ner and his comrades rushed to the battlefield and lost their 
health, blood, and life for the preservation of this God-given 
Union. 

President Harrison listened to the howl and growl of the 
rabble, while the Secretary of the Interior and hi^ assistant lent 
aid to the cry, and finally forced the " Corporal " to resign. 

Since then he has been engaged as pension attorney in pros- 
ecuting the claims of old soldiers, and has been very successful 
in his avocation. 

I have never met a more generous or benevolent man than 
" Corporal " Tanner, and if his power and pocket were as big 



TANNER. 125 

as his brave heart every soldier who fought for the- Stars and 
Stripes would receive at least a dollar a day to help him over 
the corduroy roads of old age and pathetic poverty. 

The " Corporal " is direct in all his movements. He is a man 
with a forgiving spirit and without malice. For those who once 
wore the " gray " he now shows the kindest regard. Not long 
ago, Gen. John B. Gordon, a gallant Confederate soldier from 
Georgia, delivered his celebrated lecture on " The Last Days of 
the Confederacy " for the benefit of the disabled soldiers of the 
Union Veteran Legion and the Confederate home in Richmond. 
"Corporal" Tanner, as the commander of the Legion, intro- 
duced the gallant Confederate to 10,000 people assembled in 
Convention Hall, at Washington, and Gen. John M. Schofield, 
the Commander of the United States Army, presided with his 
usual dignity and intelligence. 

This auspicious event, a union meeting of the " blue " and the 
"gray" was mainly brought about by "Corporal" Tanner, 
whose magnanimity to a fallen foe is as conspicuous as his 
bravery was against a standing one. When he passes away, 
beyond the mountain ranges of this life, the soldiers of the Re- 
public will lose one of their best friends, and his family and 
neighbors a generous father and faithful man. Tanner never 
had time enough to tell a lie or garnish his acts with the parsley 
of hypocrisy, and his whole nature pivots on "friendship," 
" charity," and " loyalty" — the bed-rock doctrine of the Grand 
Army of the Republic. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE NATIONAL CAPITAL. 

The milestones of memory clustering around the National 
Capital are rich with historic lore and refreshing to the tourist 
from every land and clime. 

Stand with me for a moment at the Scott statue, on the heights 
of the National Soldiers' Home, to the north of Washington, as 
the slanting beams of evening irradiate the scene. Far to the 
right and west the rolling hills of the Old Dominion lift their 
pine-clad crests over the troubled waters of the upper Potomac, 
and on a nearer view the towers and turrets of the Jesuit Uni- 
versity shine over Georgetown Heights like Alpine sentinels 
guarding the vales below. The forest trees of Oak Hill and 
Arlington nod their emerald heads to the view, while the winds 
of nature sing a mournful requiem over the citizen soldiers who 
have gone into camp on the upland slopes of Omnipotence. 

Oak Hill contains the dust of many illustrious men. Chase, 
Governor and Secretary of the Treasury, slept there until 
removed to Cincinnati ; Stanton, the great War Secretary and 
iron arm of the rebellion, rests under a tall granite shaft that is 
not more firm or compact than the heroic character it memorial- 
izes. Gen. Reno, who fell at South Mountain, finds peace beneath 
a broken marble column. Captain Morris, of Monitor, Merri- 
mac, and Cumberland memory, mingles here with Mother Earth, 
and as long as the waters of Hampton Roads shall tumble their 
white caps to the sea his heroic and patriotic conduct will be 
cherished by a grateful country. 

Lorenzo Dow, the great apostle of temperance and revival 
religion, is covered with a sandstone slab, grown over with lichens 
and creeping grasses. Bishop Pinckney, the celebrated Epis- 
(126) 



THE NATIONAL CAPITAL. 1 27 

copalian, has a life-size marble statue over his grave, erected 
by the benevolence of W. W. Corcoran, the millionaire, who 
sleeps beneath a marble pagoda across the hill from his sacer- 
dotal friend. John Howard Payne, author of " Home, Sweet 
Home," has a monument and marble bust to glorify his dust in- 
death, while in Hfe he was a poor, forlorn wanderer, often with- 
out home, food, or shelter. 

When I am dead let no vain pomp display 
A surface sorrow o'er my pulseless clay, 
But all the dear old friends I loved in life 
May shed a tear, console my child and wife. 

When I am dead some sage for self-renown 
May urn my ashes in some park or town, 
And give when I am cold and lost and dead 
A marble shaft where once I needed bread! 

I could not help quoting these few lines from my book, 
** Peculiar Poems," because they seem to be so true about the 
way of the world. Poets have been particularly unfortunate in 
securing plenty and pleasure in life, yet when the shadows of 
death and time have enveloped their frail forms, monuments in 
marble and bronze lift their artistic heads to tell the world of 
the fame of those that sleep below. Homer, Dante, Tasso, 
Otway, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Burns, Keats, Edgar Allan Poe, 
and Payne might rise from their graves today and view with 
wonder and alarm the great glory they secured after death as 
a contrast to the neglect and poverty they endured in life. 

Many great and good soldiers sleep their last sleep on Arling- 
ton Heights, that we see in the glimmering distance. The dash- 
ing Sheridan, the gallant Crook, the great Indian fighter Har- 
ney, the faithful Quartermaster General Meigs, the Chief of 
Artillery Hunt, the Secretary of War Belknap, and the heroic 
Hazen, Sturgis, Ayers, Baxter, Crane, and the illustrious 
Admiral Porter, with a gallant crew of his naval subordinates, 
rest under the shadows of those grand old oaks. 

More than 17,000 men who fought for the perpetuity of the 



128 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Union slumber in the field of eternal silence that once echoed 
to the footsteps of Gen. Robert E. Lee as he pondered amid 
the bowers of his ancestral home. Just outside the Government 
inclosure, to the north you find another " God's acre " filled with 
thousands of the sons of the South who fought and fell for what 
they, no doubt, deemed the right. 

** These in the robings of glory 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 

In the dusk of eternity meet. 
Under the dust and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the laurel, the blue; 

Under the willow, the gray." 

Lengthen the view from where we now stand, at the Soldiers* 
Home, you behold fifteen miles away the hill tops of Mount 
Vernon, looming up in the fading horizon, and nearer, the walls 
of Fort Washington shining in the distance; the spires and 
smoke of Alexandria rising over the town where Jackson shot 
Ellsworth in his hotel, and where Brownell sent a bullet through 
the heart of the rash Virginian, who defied a whole Govern- 
ment, and flung his rebel flag to the breeze. Letting the eye 
linger along the banks of the Potomac you behold a long, dark 
line spanning its flashing waters, and you may see and hear the 
rapid railroad trains as they rumble over the crumbling timbers 
of the historic Long Bridge. Could this bridge talk, what a 
story it would tell of the hopes and fears of those beaten Union 
soldiers who crossed its piers in July, 1861, while the echo of 
cannon from Bull Run hastened their march from the field of 
battle to the Capital and the North. 

Bands were playing, horses neighing, 

Soldiers straying, mules were braying; 

Banners flying, women crying; 

Hearts were sighing, many dying; 

Onward, backward, all uproarious, 

The gray victorious, the blue still glorious; 



THE NATIONAL CAPITAL. 1 29 

The field was won, the field was lost, 
Like ocean billows torn and tossed, 
And on the bloody field of war 
Were waves of dead, a giant scar, 
And mangled bodies, torn and pale, 
Like forests in a withering gale. 

But, while the Union flag went down in the gloom of defeat 
at Bull Run, it rose triumphant at Gettysburg and Appomattox, 
and today the men who fought each other to the verge of death 
have shaken hands over the bloody chasm, and from yonder 
shining dome that tops the Capitol, right under the shadow of 
the Goddess of Liberty, they walk arm in arm to irrigate their 
anatomy with " cold tea " or exhilarate their manhood with rare 
wines and terrapin at the fine dinners of the Press, Gridiron, or 
Army and Navy Clubs, as well as the rare viands served up at 
the Arlington, Welcker's, and Chamberlin's. Thus, you see, 
the lamb and the lion can lie down together when the pasture is 
large enough to feed them both. 

In these glinting remarks we must not forget to keep the 
grand panorama of Washington in view. There she sits, like 
an Egyptian Queen surrounded by the jewels of the Orient. 
At her feet flows the placid Potomac, winding like a silver ser- 
pent to the sea, while a rim of broken, emerald hills to the north 
sets ofl" the opal and ruby colors that shine from the private and 
public buildings of this city of Magnificent Distances. 

The swelling dome of the Capitol, the great marble monu- 
mental pile, 555 feet high, erected to the memory of the Father 
of his Country, and the War Department building, are the 
most prominent landmarks that meet the vision, while squares, 
parks, circles, angles, and long-shaded avenues fill the soul of the 
beholder with pleasure and pride as he contemplates the possibil- 
ities of Washington a thousand years henee, when the bright flag 
of the great Republic may irradiate the pathway of mankind and 
guarantee universal suflfrage and home rule to the whole world . 



130 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

A thousand years, my own Columbia, 
A thousand years to rule the right; 
A thousand years of law and order, 
A thousand years of mind and might. 

Poetry, painting, sculpture, music, and science cling to the 
skirts of the Goddess of Liberty, and, while with one hand she 
wields the sword of freedom, she may trample under foot the 
tottering thrones of tyrants and smash the lazaroni of royalty, 
who live on the sweat, the tears, and the blood of their fellow - 
men. 

This Capital is the home of progress and the front-parlor 
compartments of 70,000,000 of free people. This is the altar 
in the cathedral of the continent, around which kneel the sons 
and daughters of Revolutionary sires, who wrung from mon- 
archy the God-given principles of self-government. Here can 
be found men and women from every State in the Union and 
lingering travelers from every land under the sun, all mingling 
in social cheer or delivering into the arts and sciences which 
beautify life and increase the sum of human knowledge. 

In the last twenty years untold millions of dollars have been 
invested in and around the city by public appropriations or 
private speculation. Waste lots and lands that a few years since 
would not bring 10 cents a foot cannot now be bought for $10 
a foot, and old manor-houses that were ruined by time and war 
have been rebuilt or torn away to make room for the palatial 
mansions of rich citizens from Boston, Chicago, St. Louis, Phil- 
adelphia, Pittsburg, Cincinnati, or New York. And still the 
flood of capital, talent, and power rolls through our thousand 
gates, open night and day for the entrance and exit of mankind. 
The walls of Babylon, Thebes, and Rome do not hedge us in, 
and ancient barriers to the progress of man do not lift their cold, 
stony brows to beat back civilization. 

Many statues of warriors and statesmen decorate the parks 
and circles of the city, and in a few years the number of illus- 
trious men whose forms will appear in marble or bronze will 



THE NATIONAL CAPITAL. I3I 

exceed that of any other capital. They will not be complete, 
however, until that of Alexander Shepherd is erected in the 
most conspicuous spot in the city, for it was through his bold 
and far-seeing genius that we were lifted out of the mud and 
dust of slavery and placed in the concrete of freedom ! 

Aurora rising out of the blue Atlantic in her golden chariot 
smiles on this Paris of America as with rosy fingers she scatters 
the silver dewdrops of life and wealth along national pathways 
until she anchors her shining car beyond the golden sands of the 

Pacific ! 

Age after age will sweep its course away, 
The works of man will crumble and decay, 
Yet on the tide of time from sun to sun 
Shall shine the glory of this Washington; 
And all the stars that in their orbits roll, 
Around the rushing world from pole to pole, 
Shall keep our name as true and bright 
As yonder sparkling jewels of the night. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. 

The roar of the wicked gunboats, Tyler and Lexington, and 
the rumble of field-pieces broke upon our ears like a sad 
requiem over the graves of buried heroes. Bomb, bomb, 
thrumb, thrumb, sounded the music of our march, and through 
that long Sunday night the incessant song of the murderous 
gunboats was the death-knell of many a son of the South. The 
flood-gates of Heaven seemed open that fearful night, and the 
rain came down on the wearied trudging soldiers like hail-stones. 

The roads were worked into sticky slush by the artillery 
wagons, and the weary warriors wound along amid peals of 
thunder and flashes of lightning, looking like gnomes from 
some infernal region. It was a hitch and a halt, a push and a 
run, a rest and a rout, until the straggling shanties of Savan- 
nah came into view on the swollen waters of the Tennessee, just 
as the gray of morning dissipated the black shadows of night 
and brought another day of battle and blood. 

In passing through the streets of Savannah down to the trans- 
port steamer that was to take us to the battlefield, six miles 
above, I saw for the first time wounded soldiers borne on 
stretchers from the bloody work at the front. An hour before, 
the proud form of the soldier had been rushing on the enemy 
with the spirit of a lion ; but now his mangled manhood lay 
prostrate, carried to the rear by sorrowing comrades, never 
again, perhaps, to mingle his voice with the roar of battle, sing 
love songs around the nightly bivouac, or greet the loved ones 
at home. 

The Twenty-fourth Kentucky was immediately pushed aboard 
the transport steamer Evansville, and at once proceeded to the 
(132) 



THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. I33 

battlefield, arriving on the scene of slaughter and demoraliza- 
tion at noon. The Fifty-seventh Indiana and Twenty-fourth 
Kentucky were immediately placed in line of battie by Col. G. 
D. Wagner, commanding the Twenty-first Brigade, while the 
Fifteenth and Fortieth Indiana supported tlie advancing columiL 
The battle was raging, and the enemy was making a last 
stand on the rough hills behind a clump of water oak ; and 
thick hickory underbrush, when amid shot, shell, and deadly 
buck and ball, Col. Lewis B. Grigsby, the commander of the 
Twent>^-fourth, made the following impromptu speech as my 
regiment rushed to battle : 

Fellow-soldiers, the field of honor is before you. The foe is 
over the hill waiting your salute. Kentucky looks to her soldiers 
to carry the flag of the Union to victory. Remember that you are 
sons of the heroic men who fell at the River Raisin, New Orleans, 
and on the bloody plains of Buena Vista. Stand by your colors to 
the last, preferring death to defeat. Now, at the enemy! Forward, 
guide right, charge! 

The In!ly-seventh Indiana had dashed off to the front by this 
time, touching on the left of Rosseau's Brigade of Kentuckians, 
of McCook's Division ; while the Twenty-fourth aligned on the 
left of the gallant Indianians, all charging right into the retreat- 
ing forces of Van Dom and Breckinridge, who moved with a 
sullen tread from their victorious ground on the previous day. 

About a quarter of a mile to the left of Shiloh church, and 
near the Corinth road, the Twenty-fourth, in one of its charges, 
captured about forty prisoners and sent them to the rear. 
Among the prisoners were a field ofllicer, a chaplain, and a sur- 
geon named Redwood, of an Alabama regiment. 

During the afternoon the closing batde scenes shifted with 
alternate success and defeat, the enemy contesting every inch 
of ground. But the army of General Buell, commanded by 
Nelson, McCook, Crittenden, and Wood, was too much for the 
heroic warriors of Johnston and Beauregard. About 4 o'clock 
the enemy was in full retreat, on the road and through the 



134 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

interminable forests leading to Corinth. Wood's Division 
followed the retreating army about five miles out on the Corinth 
road, and successfully repelled several cavalry dashes made by 
General Forrest; although in one instance the Confederate 
general dashed right through the Seventy-seventh Ohio Infantry 
as if it had been but so much chaff, scattering the blue-coats 
through the underbrush and tall timbers. 

The darkness of night put an end to the bloody battle ; and, 
after throwing out pickets on the various roads, Wood's division 
marched back to the main body of the army. 

The armies of Grant and Buell slept upon the battlefield that 
soaking Monday night. No effort was made to follow the 
retreating foe. We were only too glad to rest after the terrible 
two days of blood and gather up the remnant of our broken 
forces. 

" Our bugles sang truce, for the night-clouds had lowered, 
And the sentinel set their watch in the sky; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered — 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die." 

Such a scene of havoc and desolation as the field of Shiloh 
presented I never witnessed in the marches and fights of after 
years. Around the old Shiloh meeting-house could be seen 
clumps of dead soldiers, scores of dead horses, broken artillery 
caissons, smashed wagons, tents riddled with bullets, trees torn 
to splinters, underbrush cut down by the murderous Minnies, 
great giant oaks blown up by the roots, and prostrate like the 
swollen human forms that festered below ; while a look above 
presented the broken arms of the forest as they moved in the 
chilling night winds against the gloomy outline of a leaden sky ! 

The rain came down in torrents, the mud and forest slush 
being almost knee-deep. During the night I was detailed to 
take charge oi the prisoners that we had captured in the after- 
noon. They were collected in a group under the dripping 
leaves and branches of a spreading oak. The night was chilly, 



THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. I35 

the soldiers thin clad, and the demon of hunger threatened the 
weary warriors. In the race of Buell to the battlefield, com- 
missary and regimental waf^ons had been left behind, and 
thousands of human beings were without shelter, save such 
temporary covering as could be obtained by broken branches, 
swamp grass, and long slabs of bark peeled from surrounding 
trees. 

About 12 o'clock Monday night I was taken with a con- 
gestive chill and relieved from duty by Goodpaster, my com- 
panion lieutenant of Company I. In searching for shelter from 
the drenching rain and cutting winds, I stumbled into a tent 
that had been riddled by bullets, and feeling about in the mid- 
night darkness, found some sleeping soldiers. In my wild 
hunt for rest I sank down between the sleepers, pulling their 
rough blankets over my shivering frame. Weary, cold, and 
hungry, I soon fell into a deep slumber, and on the airy wings 
of blissful dreams, was wafted away over hill, river, and plain 
to my home in Kentucky. I sat again by the fireside of those 
I loved, and basked in the sunshine of bright beauty. How my 
wild, delirious fancy painted happiness in the beautiful land of 
slumber and imagination. Angel voices lulled me to repose, 
rare viands and rich food haunted my hungry eyes, and sweet 
music cheered my sinking soul. The chill and pain of the mid- 
night hour vanished away, the cold gray shadows of morning 
brightened the dark woods, when some straggling comrade 
roused me from the fantastic flowers and melodies of dreamland. 
The heart would fain slumber and the chill of the body beat back 
the sweet voices that implored me to linger in the realm of fancy. 

" ' Stay, stay with us; thou art weary and worn;' 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; 
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn. 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away." 

Sorrow indeed returned ; for, in rousing from sleep, I dis- 
covered that my blanket companions were dead, having been 
shot, no doubt, that terrible Sunday morning, when Sidney 



136 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Johnston and his dashing heroes rolled over the Union troops 
like mad waves on the sea-shore. At the door of the Sibley 
tent I saw dead soldiers scattered about like huge cord-wood 
sticks. In each of the company streets tattered tents, camp 
kettles, pans, broken guns, torn blankets, empty canteens, hav- 
ersacks, and knapsacks lined the bloody battle ground. The 
" blue " and " gray " rested side by side in eternal sleep. Many 
I saw were grappled in death, and the bright bayonet that did 
the desperate work was clinched in the hand that dealt the mur- 
derous blow. 

No mind can conceive or pen portray the startling horrors 
of Shiloh. It was, for the number engaged, the bloodiest battle 
of the war, and the very pivot of the victorious Union. Had 
Grant, Buell, and Sherman been defeated at Shiloh the Federal 
forces could not have been re-formed for batde south of the 
Ohio River; and Kentucky and Tennessee, in all human prob- 
ability, would have been lost to the Union. 

At 7 o'clock on the 6th of April, 1862, the division of Gen- 
eral Sherman occupied the advanced position of the Union 
Army, his right rest on the Purdy road, near Owl Creek, and 
his left stretching in front and beyond Shiloh church on the 
Corinth road. 

The division of Prentiss was on the left of Sherman, and Mc- 
Clernand occupied the line in rear of Sherman, while Hurlbut 
and Stuart were farther to the left rear, near the Tennessee 
River, leaving Lew. Wallace, with his lost division, in the swamps 
of Snake Creek. 

General Sherman's division stood the brunt of the first day's 
battle, the desperate onslaught of Johnston bearing down on his 
left, and on the right of Prentiss, with the weight of a roaring 
flood, compelling the first line to fall back on McClernand for 
support, which was given promptly. General Prentiss and quite 
a large number of his division were taken prisoners in the morn- 
ing, and during the subsequent fighting his command was but a 
shattered body staggering about on the bloody field. 



THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. 1 37 

Night found the Union forces badly demoralized, their left 
resting on the Tennessee River, having been driven from three 
battle-lines during the day. McClernand's and Sherman's 
divisions still occupied the ragged front of battle, while the 
victorious Confederates feasted on the provender of the Fed- 
eral troops. 

During Sunday night the gunboats Tyler and Lexington 
kept up a periodical fire on the enemy, throwing shells into 
the ranks of the victors. Grant and Buell had a consultation 
with their subordinates on Sunday night, wherein it was deter- 
mined to take the offensive on Monday, and retrieve our lost 
ground, if possible. 

Lew. Wallace occupied the extreme right of the Union forces* 
with Sherman, McClernand, Hurlbut, McCook, Wood, Critten- 
den and Nelson extending for two miles to the left, making a 
cordon of determined bayonets ready to pierce the enemy. They 
moved against the Confederate forces in unexpected strength 
early Monday morning ; and, while varying success character- 
ized the contending armies during the second day of the great 
battie, 4 o'clock in the afternoon found the rebel warriors in full 
retreat, and the Union army completely victorious. 

I am satisfied that the Army of the Ohio, commanded by 
General Buell, turned defeat into victory, and were it not for 
the timely arrival of six divisions, the brave soldiers of Grant 
and Sherman would have been driven into the Tennessee River 
or captured by the daring soldiers of Johnston and Beauregard. 

General Sherman, in his Shiloh report, says that Rousseau's 
brigade of McCook's division advanced beautifully, deployed, 
and entered the dreaded wood, where a few moments before 
Willich suffered defeat. He says : " I saw for the first time the 
well-ordered and compact columns of General Buell's Kentucky 
forces, whose soldierly movements at once gave confidence to 
our newer and less disciplined men." 

Whole Union regiments from Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michi- 
gan, Missouri, and Kentucky were literally used up, and it was 



138 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

days and weeks after the battle before some Ohio regiments 
could be found, to form a nucleus for reorganization. 

Perhaps it has never occurred to the peaceful citizen of today 
how much he is indebted to Grant, Sherman, Meade, Sheridan, 
Thomas, McPherson, Hancock, and other gallant commanders, 
for the blessings that came with the salvation of the Union and 
the starry flag. We think of these men, little realizing that to 
their brain, nerve, dash, and valor is largely due the establish- 
ment of a Union without a slave and a nation without a peer. 
They will only be entirely appreciated after their death, when 
their scurrilous detractors are rotting in unremembered graves. 
Their statues, in marble and bronze, will decorate the parks of 
the National Capital, telling to generations yet unborn the glow- 
ing history of their heroic actions at Donelson, Shiloh, Gettys- 
burg, Winchester, Arianta, and Appomattox. 

Our forces held the field of Shiloh, but that was all ; and, 
while the enemy leisurely retreated to Corinth, the victorious 
army showed no disposition to follow, but wallowed along like 
a huge anaconda for seven weeks, through the swamps and 
and forests of Tishimingo County, before reaching Corinth, only 
thirty miles away. General Halleck was preparing for a great 
battle with his 100,000 fresh soldiers, and when he actually got 
ready to strike the blow against Beauregard on the 30th of 
May, 1862, found that the heroic Confederate had evacuated 
Corinth with his entire army two days before, leaving nothing 
to our grand parade General but long lines of empty breast- 
works, broken camp kettles, and a few ragged prisoners ! 

It was laughable to see the preparations General Halleck 
made for the great impending battle which was to come off at 
Corinth. Rows of hospital tents, to accommodate a thousand 
men, were erected along the Purdy, Farmington, and Corinth 
roads ; nice new cots, furnished with clean linen sheets ; rose 
blankets ; variegated quilts, and pillows with frilled cases, had 
h^en sent from the North to comfort would-be wounded warriors. 

When long rifle-pits were dug every mile or so through the 



THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. 1 39 

woods the " boys " would say that they were all owing to the 
great forethought of General Halleck, who not only fixed up 
beds and shelter for the living, but provided new-made graves 
for the dead ! The old General did everything in tip-top style, 
according to his " elements of war," except — fighting ! This 
necessary element of war seemed to be a secondary considera- 
tion with the great tactician. Yet, at that time the war was 
young, and the Generals had to grow to the idea that the enemy 
had to be conquered, not by kindness, but by killing. 

LOUISVILLE EXPERIENCE. 

Many funny and curious scenes transpired about the camp, 
and in the homes of the rushing city. I became acquainted 
with a very beautiful Southern belle, whose family was of the 
best blood in the State. She had two brothers in the Army — 
one with Morgan, fighting for the " Stars and Bars," and the 
other with Rosecrans, fighting for the " Stars and Stripes." The 
father was old, and bowed down with grief at the terrible scenes 
transpiring around him, while the mother's mild manner sent a 
glow of love and peace through the household. 

A social party was given at the mansion one evening, and 
I was invited to attend. On my arrival I found a large number 
of well-dressed guests, gray colors predominating, I being the 
only blue-uniformed individual present. Dancing, song, and 
feasting were indulged in until midnight, when, to cap the 
climax. Miss Ella asked the privilege of singing and playing 
the " Bonnie Blue Flag." As the tune had been filched from 
Yankeeland, and as I had heard *' Dixie," another Yankee air, 
played in the heat of battle — and more particularly as I was not 
fighting against women and children — I interposed no objection. 
The beautiful young lady threw all her soul into the so-called 
rebel air, and out in the midnight silence it sounded as if the 
belles of Richmond were in chorus with the whole Confederacy. 
Great applause greeted the performance, but the cheers had not 
died away when a provost-martial with a squad of soldiers broke 
in upon the festivities and arrested the whole party for treason- 



140 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

able conduct. Everybody became alarmed at the predicament, 
the proprietor of the house seeing nothing but Camp Chase or 
Fort Lafayette, with their ponderous jaws ready to receive him. 

In this emergency I replied to the arrest and taunts of the 
bluff captain, saying that I alone was responsible for the sing- 
ing of the treasonable song, having requested the young lady 
to render the air for the social pleasure of the guests. He re- 
plied that if that was the case I should go with him at once to 
headquarters, where my conduct would be reported ; and, as I 
took the responsibility of the song, I should suffer whatever 
penalty might be inflicted by the Government. 

I bade the host and hostess good night, leaving them to their 
liberty and cheer, thus sacrificing myself for the good of other 
mortals. When I reached the commanding officer, who had 
authority and common sense, I explained that it was all a piece 
of fun and pleasantry and a magnanimous thought on my part 
to gratify an enthusiastic girl who desired to sing a few notes in 
honor of the Southern cause. The Confederacy always received 
my blows on the field of battle, but in the gloom of defeat I 
extended my hand and the generous words of a soldier to a 
fallen foe. I was not in favor of a parlor war, only striking those 
with arms in their hands. 

The next day I called at the mansion and relieved the anx- 
iety of the household by informing them that the commanding 
officer of Louisville had released me from arrest, while the 
superserviceable officer received no encomiums for his great 
energy and intense loyalty in breaking into a private house to 
disturb innocent festivities. 

A few nights after this occurrence I stumbled on one still 
more ridiculous. Captain Gill, Lieutenant Mclntyre, and my- 
self had been at the Louisville Theater to see Maggie Mitchell 
in her charming play of " Fanchon." Before returning to camp, 
after the close of the performance, I proposed that we go to 
Walker's restaurant for refreshments. This proposition was 
readily agreed to, and without delay we repaired to the festive 



LOUISVILLE EXPERIENCE. I4I 

resort and ordered a fine bird supper. The small rooms, fitted 
for four persons, were well patronized that night, and the thin 
sheeting partitions could not shut out the voices or words of 
the respective occupants. During the supper a friend of Mc- 
Intyre joined him — a citizen from the " blue-grass " region — 
who got into an argument with " Mac." on the proprieties of 
the war. 

Champagne went down, and loud words quickly came up, 
until at last Mclntyre made a lunge at the friend of his youth, 
knocked him against the panels of the small room, and down 
with a crash went the whole side on the elaborate supper of 
Maj. Gen. Gordon Granger and his staff officers. Excitement 
ran high, aad Granger's face looked like a thunder cloud that 
had been split up by lightning. He knew me, but did not 
know my companions. The suppers were destroyed. Mcln- 
tyre and the citizen were finally separated, the lights turned 
out, and we were ordered to our camps under arrest, to report 
at the Gait House the next morning at lo o'clock. 

Granger and his officers were very jolly that night before we 
threw down the side of the stall on their supper, and I am con- 
vinced that our superiors were as much influenced by fumes 
from Bacchus as we were. 

It was about 2 o'clock when we got into the street; and 
while we had been peremptorily ordered to camp, three miles 
away, and in a keen, frosty night, I proposed that, as we had 
to report to Granger at 10 o'clock in the morning, we go to the 
hotel, take a good rest and breakfast, and face the military 
music like men, which proposition was adopted. 

Promptiy at the appointed hour we put in an appearance at 
the Gait House. Granger was not yet out of bed. We told 
his orderly our mission, and asked him to inform the General. 
While waiting, it was agreed that I should do the talking and 
pleading, and that '' the boys " should assent to every excuse 
I made for our conduct of the previous night. We were soon 
admitted, and found Granger sitting up in bed with his legs 



142 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

dangling over the side. We saluted, as became good, respect- 
ful officers, and he said : " Young men, you were drunk last 
night. I am ashamed and astonished to see officers of the 
Army conduct themselves in such a disgraceful manner." 

I replied that we never drank, and before we left home we 
had each made a solemn pledge to our sweethearts that for the 
period of three years, or during the war, we would not taste, 
smell, or handle ardent spirits. 

Granger looked astonished, and asked Gill and Mclntyre if 
my statement was true. They held up their hands in earnest 
asseveration, and testified firmly to the truth of what I had 
uttered. The General arose immediately from the bed, pro- 
ceeded to the mantel-piece, took therefrom a half-filled bottle 
of Bourbon whisky and glasses, and said : " Gentlemen, you are 
the most magnificent liars it has ever been my lot to behold. 
Your coolness and audacity deserve a reward, and I shall take 
it as a great favor if you will condescend to join me in a glass 
of old Bourbon." 

I replied that his request was equal to an order ; and, as we 
had sworn to obey all orders of our superior officers, the pledge 
we gave our sweethearts must give way to the rules of war ; 
and however reluctant we might be to violate the obligations of 
love, we could not, with self-respect, decline to comply with the 
promptings of patriotism and duty. 

We parted with mutual respect for each other. I believe 
that the General who takes a social glass with his stafi" is no 
worse than the soldier who empties a canteen with his comrade 
on the hot and dusty ;narch. I shall never forget the Pick- 
wickian look and quizzical smile of Granger on that occasion. 
He was certainly a generous character, and had the philosophy 
and common sense not to rebuke too severely the conduct in 
another which characterized himself 

** The hand and heart will show the noble mind; 
A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind." 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



BURNSIDE IN EAST TENNESSEE. 

In August, 1863, the Government determined to break one 
of the joints of the backbone of the Southern Confederacy by 
cutting loose from its base line in Kentucky, and moving by the 
way of Chattanooga and over the Cumberland Mountains to 
Knoxville, East Tennessee, where a grand trunk railroad that 
supplied men and material to the enemy might be cut, and 
force them to move their base line further to the south and the 
sea. 

On the 23d of August, 1863, Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside, 
commanding the Department of the Ohio, and the Ninth Army 
Corps crossed the Cumberland River at the Somerset Ford 
with cavalry, infantry, and artillery, amounting to about 25,000 
men. It was a bold strike to rescue East Tennessee from the 
Confederate foe. Before us laid a wilderness of more than 350 
miles, with its mountain steeps, gorges, and streams. 

The passage of the Cumberland at Smith's Ferry was a very 
difficult undertaking. On the south side of the rapid stream 
we were compelled to haul up the wagons and artillery with 
ropes grasped in the hands of a thousand men. When the 
army was safely camped on the south side of the Cumberland 
we rested but for one day, and then began a weary march 
through an unknown country that had been occupied by guer- 
illa and regular troops of the enemy since the beginning of 
hostilities. A trail of twelve days through rugged mountains 
lay before us ere we could tap the East Tennessee railroad, near 
Knoxville, and sever Confederate communication from Rich- 
mond to the Southwest. Our wagon trains did not get up on 
the night of the 23d until 12 o'clock, and the soldiers had to 

(143) 



144 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

camp on the bare, rocky earth, with nothing to cover them but 
overhanging branches, and no Hght to show them to dreamland 
but the twinkUng stars peering out of the mysterious depths of 
the upper blue. The air was chilly and the sparkling jewels of 
Heaven shone down on the slumbering camp with a cold gleam. 
Early in the morning twilight, after a can of coffee, some raw 
bacon, and hard-tack, the whole army proceeded on a rough 
march to a small town named Jacksburg, traveling over narrow, 
rocky roads, that almost defied the passage of mules and 
wagons. We soon began to rise over the spurs of the Cumber- 
land Mountains, winding our way across a back-bone ridge, 
until we came to the rapid waters of New River. The view at 
some high turning point in the road was grand and imposing, 
and in the clear morning air we could see at least a hundred 
miles away the undulating lines of the mountains sweeping away 
in graceful grandeur to the fading lines of the blue horizon. 

In many instances we passed along a region for twenty or 
twenty-five miles without seeing a living sign of human habita- 
tion, and the tumble-down log huts and burnt chimney sites 
that we beheld convinced our minds that loyal hearts that once 
beat responsive to the Union were dead or refugees in Northern 
lands, far away from the glowing peaks and leaping streams of 
Tennessee. 

On the 29th and 30th of August we passed over the topmost 
peak of the Cumberland Mountains and camped some ten miles 
from the town of Montgomery, situated near the southern base 
of the mountain range. The sight from the top of the mountain 
was most inspiring to the soul of man. Bold, bare rocks shot 
out against the clear sky like mammoth ships upon a raging 
sea. Deep, dark chasms yawned in majestic horror upon the 
eye of the traveler, and the thundering roar of some far-off falls 
broke upon the ear like the rush of mighty wind sweeping over 
a primeval forest. The mountain looks magnificent — 

" lis uplands sloping decked the mountain side, 
Woods over woods, in gay theatric pride." 



BURNSIDE. 145 

Yet, to the romantic soul filled with unutterable admiration, 
the gloaming, the starlight, and the moonlight must intermingle 
to bring out in bold relief the beauty and grandeur of mountain 
scenery. A moonlight night I stood upon one of the wildest 
peaks of the Cumberland, the sighing pines singing to the stars, 
the wood crickets chirping at my feet, and the sounds of dash- 
ing casades carried on the wings and dreams of night, while the 
" bright and burning blazonry of God " glittered in their eternal 
depths and lit up the green mountain with a glow of celestial 
light. 

At such a moment the soul communes with its Creator, and 
while we may, perhaps, doubt the reason of prayers, creeds, and 
churches, the most reasoning man cannot deny the existence of 
a God in the vast and mysterious realm spread out before him 
in air, water, earth, and sky. Those majestic mountain tops 
were not called into being and clothed with a rich eternal verd- 
ure by chance. Those crystal springs and roaring rivers did 
not rise and meander to the sea without some grand design. 
The blue heavens above were not spread out in illimitable beauty 
and dotted all over with shining worlds without a plan. No ! 
God lives in every breeze that wafts over the earth ; shines in 
every star that glitters in the blue vault of Heaven ; sings with 
every warbler that flutters in the forest; breathes in every 
fragrant flower, and when the mortals of this transient life have 
lived out their small span they mingle again, for some unknown 
purpose, with the component parts of earth and sink back to 
some grand Omnipotence, wise and eternal ! 

Burnside and his troops passed through the city of Montgom- 
ery on the I St of September, and while guerillas and rebel cav- 
alry kept watch of our march from a safe distance, they did not, 
or could not, balk us in our grand design of cutting one of the 
main arteries of the roaring Rebellion. The dilapidation of the 
loyal town of Montgomery was sad to behold, and might well 
be compared to the Deserted Village of Goldsmith. Its inhab- 
itants lived in rural comfort before the Rebellion, surrounded 



146 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

by smiling fields and productive vineyards that decked the 
upland, sunny slopes. These mountain people, sprinkled with 
a large colony of Germans, were true to the old flag when the 
tocsin of war was sounded, but were compelled to fly for their 
lives as refugees to the North. The plantation "chivalry " made 
it too hot for Union men to live in the atmosphere of slavery and 
and Confederate conscription. In going through the village I 
did not see a living citizen, but the torn roofs, broken fences, 
rotten doors, creaking sign-boards, straggling hedges, tall weeds, 
blowing thistles, hanging cobwebs, and "swallows twittering from 
their straw-built shed," betokened decay, desolation, and death. 

** Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 
Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green. 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall. 
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand 
Far, far away thy children leave the land." 

I left Montgomery and looked back with a sigh upon the 
straggling broken village just as the evening sun cast its last 
rays over the ruined homes of exiled, banished, loyal hearts, 
who forfeited all but truth and honor in their devotion to the 
Stars and Stripes. 

After winding our dusty way for four days more we neared 
the railroad at Lenoir. The guerillas infested this region and 
became troublesome. At one spot, in passing a gorge in the 
mountain, at the Roaring Forks of the Holston River, three of 
the men of my regiment were killed by masked men in the 
brush. In the regiment were several fugitives or refugees from 
Tennessee. George Roburn knew every pass in the mountains 
and every ford along the streams. It was only the work of a 
moment for me to follow where the smoke of the guerillas' guns 
still scented the air. With Company I of the regiment I dashed 
after the mounlain assassins and determined to wreak a sweet 



BURNSIDE. 147 

vengeance on the region that held such cut-throats. It was a 
perilous search, and somewhat like finding a needle in a hay- 
stack. We knew that to get on the south side the guerillas 
would be compelled to go to Campbell's Ford, and instead of 
going the easy, long path we cut right through the brush, into 
the scrub pines and cedars that blocked our way. Inside of an 
hour we arrived at the ford and secreted ourselves in the bushes 
to await results. About an hour before sunset we saw five men 
sneaking down the mountain side with long rifles on their 
shoulders. They were dressed in ragged butternut clothes, and 
might be the advance guards of Fra Diavolo's band of Italian 
robbers. They approached the stream very stealthily, sending 
one of their number to spy out the lay-off of the land. He 
finally blew a whistle that sounded like the shrill notes of a wild 
turkey, and in a few moments the gang of assassins were on the 
banks of the stream, ready to cross. My men were not a hun- 
dred yards from where they stood. I yelled out, " Halt ! " 
They were startled for a moment, and then plunged into the 
rapid stream. One volley killed three of them, wounded one, 
and the other was washed ashore. I ordered the men to capt- 
ure the wounded fellow and the captain of the band, whose 
name was Stafford. The wounded guerilla soon breathed his 
last, and Stafford threw himself on his knees and begged for 
mercy. He recited to me, with trembling, cowardly lips, that 
for two years he had been running away Union men from Ten- 
nessee, or forcing them into the Southern Army, and in many 
instances had killed these loyalists and burned down their homes. 

We left " Captain " Stafford hanging to the limb of a syca- 
more tree with this placard hitched to his breathless bosom, 
"A robber, assassin, and spy." 

It was long after night when we got back to the regiment, 
and was nearly daylight when we arrived in camp, after aveng- 
ing the slaughter of three of my men. 

The next day Burnside's army struck the East Tennessee 
railroad at Lenoir, proceeded to Concord, and on the 15th of 



148 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

September, 1863, our loyal legions marched through the city of 
Knoville, and never let go our grip on that stronghold of moun- 
tain loyalty until the Rebellion gave its last kick at Appomattox. 
The story of the siege of Knoxville and our environment by 
Longstreet's troops has been told a hundred times. My regi- 
ment, the Twenty-fourth Kentucky, took a prominent part in the 
siege on the south side of the Holston River, and in my brigade 
were the One Hundred and Third and One Hundred and Fourth 
Ohio and Sixty-fifth Illinois, originally commanded by Daniel 
Cameron, of Chicago. A braver man I never met, and his 
regiment was composed of men as gallant and bold as ever 
marched, charged, or fell on the battlefields of liberty. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



JIM NELSON. 
A TRUE TALE OF GEORGIA LOYALTY. 

Jim Nelson was born in the mountains of northern Georgia, 
where, " from peak to peak, the rattHng crags among, leaps the 
live thunder." When the Stars and Stripes were shot down at 
Sumter he was nineteen years old, tilling with his father a few 
famished acres of rugged, rooty, hilly land. 

The sound of the shot at Sumter came rolling over the cotton 
plains until its echoes startled the loyal denizens of the moun- 
tains and convinced them of the fearful danger that beset their 
country. Those who favored rebellion and those who loved 
the Union took sides at once in heart or action. The neighbors 
of the lowland, who favored slavery, watched with a jealous and 
suspicious eye the action of the upland people, who almost in- 
variably sided with the cause of liberty. Although these Georgia 
loyalists were greatly in the minority, the fact did not lessen 
their love for the Union or lessen their preparation for its defense. 

Old Sam Nelson, the father of Jim, was a noted Unionist, and 
his mountain cabin soon became a rendezvous for hearts like 
his own. On the night of the ist of June, 1861, seven of the 
loyal mountain men were gathered before the capacious chim- 
ney hearth of this fearless old Radical discussing the plan of 
raising a company to defend the old flag. The " back log " 
was long and high ; hickory and oak were piled up in fantastic 
shape; the " dog irons " glowed in their effort to sustain the 

(149) 



150 JEWELS OF memory; 

weight and heat of the leaping blazes as they sputtered, flashed, 
and roared up the wide, stick, sooty chimney. 

The good housewife had spread a mountain meal of fried 
bacon, corn pone egg bread, hot biscuits, strong coffee, fried 
eggs, good butter, and milk ; and, to cap the climax, there was 
placed at the head of the puncheon table a stone jug of the best 
" apple jack " in the county. 

Sam Nelson had only two children, Jim and Katie, the latter 
two years younger than the boy. This pair that memorable 
night "passed the things around," while the " old lady " did 
the honors at the foot of the table, the " old man " sitting at the 
head dispensing food and fluid in equal quantities ; perhaps 
more fluid than food. 

When pleasure, peace, and patriotism, combined with song, 
pervaded the group of loyal hearts about the rustic board, a 
fiendish yell and loud rappings reverberated on the breeze, and 
in an instant the double room was filled with a score of masked, 
armed men. The leader made a sign, and in a period of less 
time than I can tell it the men were hustled out of the house, 
rushed into the woods nearby, and ignominiously shot — all save 
Jim Nelson, who rushed away into the darkness and hid him- 
self in a secret cave that overlooked his childhood home. 

The mother and daughter fled to a neighbor's cabin, three 
miles away, but ere they lost sight of their happy home they 
looked back through the midnight gloom and beheld the sky 
lit up with the burning sparks of their cabin. Jim, too, from 
-his temporary hiding place saw sink into ashes the smouldering 
remains of all that was dear to him, and knew that but a few 
rods away his father and friends lay cold in death, while the 
chivalric (?) Confederates from the cotton fields below had van- 
ished as quickly as they appeared, after a brilliant exploit of 
midnight murder and arson. 

Then and there Jim Nelson swore in his heart and hissed it 
through his teeth that henceforth his life should be dedicated 
to wreaking vengeance upon any person or thing that aided the 



JIM NELSON. 151 

rebel cause. He alarmed his loyal neighbors early in the morn- 
ing, and ere the sun was an hour high a group of friends had 
assembled about the dead patriots, and with a silent prayer of 
the heart they were wrapped in blankets and buried in one grave 
at the base of a pinnacled crag that overlooked the glimmering 
vale below. A dozen of the sons of the dead loyalists placed 
themselves at once under the leadership of Capt. Jim Nelson, 
and, armed with belts, bowie-knives, Kentucky rifles, and home- 
made ammunition, this desperate band, like the wild eagles of 
their native mountains, swooped down on their destined prey 
wherever found, and for three years were — a terror to regular, 
guerrilla, and citizen Confederates. Like Roderick Dhu's de- 
fiance to Fitzjames — 

** The mountaineer cast glance of pride 
Along old Lookout's living side; 
Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
Full on Fitz James: ' How say'st thee now?' 
These are old Georgia's warriors true, 
And Saxon — I am Roderick Dhu!" 

The Confederate troops in large and various expeditions were 
sent into the Georgia mountains to blot out this daring band of 
patriots, but all effort proved unavailing, as the fox and tiger 
cat were not more skilled by nature in finding secret places of 
rest and security than Captain Nelson and his desperate com- 
rades. 

When General Sherman moved out from Tunnell Hill and 
through Snake Creek Gap, about the 6th of May, 1864, Jim 
and his little band heard the tramp of their Union brothers from 
the rugged heights of Rocky Face and Buzzard's Roost and 
followed in the wake of the conquering legions down to Resaca 
and Cartersville, on to the Etowah River. 

While the army of Sherman was crossing the Etowah at Car- 
tersville on pontoon bridges, th,e railroad bridge having been 
burned by the retreating troops of Johnston, Capt. Jim Nelson 



152 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

appeared at the headquarters of Gen. John M. Schofield, com- 
manding the Twenty-third Army Corps, and disclosed a scheme 
to the General for burning and destroying the Confederate can- 
non and ammunition foundry, located about twenty-five miles 
above, on the headwaters of the Etowah. Jim knew every by- 
path, stream, rock, and hill in this iron region ; and had but a 
short time before his appearance at Schofield's headquarters 
been employed as a mill hand at the foundry in question, where 
he, under the guise of a refugee from Kentucky, stored his mind 
with every detail surrounding the place, and when his daily 
labor ceased he would mingle with the regiment of Confederate 
cavalry that guarded the mill from their encampment at the 
south end of the rustic bridge that spanned the rapid, narrow 
stream. The shambling foundry was on the north side of the 
Etowah, abutting the broken bridge, and a mile below there 
was a country fording place. 

All this and much more was told to the commander of the 
corps, communicated to General Sherman, and finally left to 
Gen. J. D. Cox to execute in his own way under the guidance 
of the mountain scout. 

General Cox commanded the division that lay next to this 
duty. After a thorough talk with Captain Nelson he was 
finally introduced to Capt. James Caughlan, aide-de-camp on 
the staff of the General, He was ordered to select fifty men 
from the body of the division who would voluntarily join this 
forlorn hope in going within the enemy's lines for the purpose 
of destroying one of the material sinews of the crumbling Re- 
bellion. 

Captain Caughlan, a gallant young Irishman, soon selected 
from ten regiments — Reilley's and Cameron's brigades princi- 
pally — the voluntary fifty men needed to destroy the munitions 
of the foe. As Caughlan was of my own regiment, and about 
my age, twenty-one, he asked me to be his second in command, 
and I consented with delight, for it has ever been my nature 



JIM NELSON. 153 

and ambition to think and act outside the mathematical ruts of 
mankind, and as " I set my Hfe upon a cast, will stand the haz- 
ard of the die." 

One bright morning, about the last of May, 1864, as the sun 
rose in splendor over the rugged hills of the Etowah, with two 
day's rations, forty rounds of ammunition for selected breach - 
loading Winchester rifles, a single blanket, canteens, and light 
hearts, the fifty men. Captains Caughlan, Nelson, and myself 
left the beaten country road and plunged into the wild moun- 
tain paths of Georgia to do or die in the interest of Union and 
liberty. 

About 5 o'clock in the afternoon we made a halt on a high 
hill about a mile fi'om the object of our destruction. Through 
the towering trees and rolling hills we could see the smoke curl 
up into the clouds from the furnace and factory and hear occa- 
sional notes from the bugle of the cavalry as they sent out their 
evening calls, while the hum and roar of the mill died away as 
the supper hour of 6 o'clock released the workmen for the day. 

We approached the mill by a secret path or ravine about 
6:30, when the hands and cavalry guards were eating their 
evening meal in fancied security, and while the main body of 
our men were ambushed near the northern end of the bridge. 
Caughlan, the guide, and myself rapidly entered the factory, 
where hogsheads of turpentine were stored, and after laying 
prepared fuse in various places, even into the covered recesses 
of the ammunition room, we cast our lighted torches around the 
foundry, fired off the fuse, and ere five minutes had passed we 
were back with our men on a rapid retreat toward the hill we 
had left less than an hour before. 

But on our rapid "advance to the rear" we had the glorious 
satisfaction to hear a continual discharge of shells and a sputter 
of cartridges as if a terrible battle was raging behind us, and 
then, too, as the rolling moon wheeled her nightly car into the 
warm summer sky, we beheld the smoke and flames of the 



154 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

burning building rise higher and higher, until the heavens were 
lit up with the consuming instruments of rebellion. 

Loud and long we could hear the bugles and trumpets sound- 
ing "boots and saddle," as the "horse marines" of the Con- 
federacy awoke to the realization that a "Yankee trick" had 
been played on their slumbering credulity. 

For ten miles we kept on our course that lovely moonlight 
night, and when we thought that the chivalric cavalcade would 
not get to the ford below the burning bridge quick enough to 
intercept us before a safe distance from our lines, the guide, 
Captain Nelson, advised us to leave the woods and enter the 
main country road, where our progress would be easier and 
march more rapid. This we did, although very weary from the 
long march of the day and the excitement that a forlorn hope 
engenders. 

We were leisurely winding our way up a long and narrow 
rocky hill, with steep sides, when all at once we heard the 
clattering sounds of the pursuing cavalry, like the far-off roar 
of falling waters. Something desperate must be done at once, 
and I suggested to Captain Caughlan that unless we gave the 
enemy the loads of lead in our breach-loaders we might never 
get to camp, or would at least stand a fine chance to become 
aristocratic boarders at Andersonville or Libby Prison. We 
halted at once just over the brow of the of the narrow summit 
and ordered the men to make a barricade of the fence rails that 
lined the road on each side, and also to tumble down such stones 
as lay loose on the steep banks. In less than ten minutes we 
had fashioned an impromptu fort that would have done credit 
to the most enthusiastic Frenchman when the guillotine was 
working off heroic heads in the streets of Paris. 

It was understood that after we had pumped our loads of lead 
into the " bloods " of the Confederacy we were to again follow 
the guide, take to the woods, and never stop until we arrived 
inside the Union lines. We did not have long to wait. It must 
have been about 9 o'clock, and the moon shone as bright as 



JIM NELSON. 155 

day. Nearer and nearer came the roaring sound of f.e pursu- 
ing foe, while we lay close to the ground on our arms, ready to 
deliver the deadly volley at the order of our intrepid com- 
mander. 

The jingling of swinging swords and sabers, the hoarse com- 
mands of officers, the labored snorts of horses, and the flash 
of their gleaming accoutrements as they rose over the brow 
of the hill, brought the command, "fire!" from our ranks, 
when all the front files of the foe went down in a heap, and as 
others followed, even to the pointed fence rails, we continued to 
fire down the narrow road until it seemed that a dark mass of 
men and horses filled the vacancy, making the night winds 
mournful with their dying groans. Bullets from the foe flew 
high and around us, but in a few moments all was compara- 
tively still, while the " Yanks " had precipitatedly taken to the 
woods without the loss of a single man and only two slightly 
wounded — ^Jim Jackson and Tom Gill. 

The first beams of morning lit up the gleaming tents of 
" Sherman's bummers," a mile away on the naked hills around 
Cartersville, and the shrill chorus of the thrilling reveille, as it 
resounded from regiment to regiment, echoed in our patriotic 
hearts like liquid tones of mellow music. We had performed 
our duty well, and as we drew up at a halt in front of Cox's 
headquarters and were dismissed to our various commands with 
rich compliments for our perilous labor, each man and officer 
felt as if the General of the Army was no better than himself. 

Capt. Jim Nelson remained as a valuable scout around head- 
quarters until the evacuation of Atlanta by Hood, where he was 
the first man that entered the city at the head of Slocum's corps, 
but as fate would have it, while he was investigating matters 
near the burning railroad depot, a bombshell exploded in his 
immediate front, inflicting a mortal wound, from which he died 
that memorable night. Yet, ere he breathed his last, he beheld 
the Stars and Stripes proudly floating over the capital city of 



156 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

his native State, and the murder of his father and friends was 
grandly avenged. 

Capt. Jim Caughlan, my intimate friend, was killed at the battle 
of Franklin, Tenn., where Hood and the gallant Pat Cleburne, a 
Confederate Irishman, fought with desperation the victorious 
hosts of the Union. Caughlan and Cleburne were killed almost 
at the same time and place, one dying for the Stars and Stripes 
and the other for the Stars and Bars. 

** So, with an equal splendor 

The morning sun rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all; 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day, 
Bordering with gold the blue, 

Mellowing with gold the gray! " 



CHAPTER XX. 



IOWA EXPERIENXE. 

On the I St of January I bid good-bye to the Twenty-fourth 
Kentucky never again to mingle with it in the rush of battle or 
join in its cheer of victory. Mountain, valley, stream, camp, 
and battlefield we left behind to many conrades who fell in the 
roaring fray ; and while the birds sang as sweetly, the rivers ran 
as freely, and the flowers bloomed as brightly, they would never 
again awaken heroic melodies in the hearts of those daring war- 
riors who went down in the shock and crash of battle. 

To comrades who have the pangs of hospital treatment and 
the shock of war, I send forth greeting and say that while life 
lingers we cannot forget the glory and renown of the old Twenty- 
fourth, whose flag rose triumphant on many a battlefield and 
whose record for daring deeds may be equaled but cannot be 
surpassed by any regiment that served the Government. 

The Twenty-fourth Kentucky was organized in the very face 
of treason. It defied relatives and friends for the sake of the 
Union, fought in front when loved ones at home were being de- 
stroyed by the enemy, skirmished on the advanced dead-lines 
of brigades, divisions, and corps as an entering wedge to victory, 
marched by road, rail, and boat more miles than any other 
regiment in the service, and at last furled forever the torn and 
blood-stained flag to rest with the archives of a State saved to the 
Union by its valor. 

To every soldier in every land, and in every good cause, I 
extend a heart and hand, whether or not we kneel at the same 
altar or worship the same God. 

(157) 



158 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Fame, like the soul, is immortal. 

•' The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements. 
The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds." 

The unsettled state of society in my old Kentucky home 
induced me to accept an invitation to visit an uncle who lived 
in Allamakee County, Iowa. 

The winter of 1865 was very severe in the Northwest. A 
few quite frigid days among the rugged, snow-capped hills of 
Allamakee made me wish for the warm rays of the sunny South 
and the genial smiles of those dear old army friends I left behind. 
I was about to leave the Hawkeye State in disgust at the cold 
reception nature extended, when my uncle and family suggested 
that I should procure a country school and turn my mind away 
from brooding over the past. 

I concluded to make application for a school located at Paint- 
Rock Church, overlooking the waters of the Mississippi River 
and within a mile of Harper's Ferry, a small town in the south- 
eastern part of the county. 

The trustee of the school, Barry, was willing that I should 
enter upon the duties of teacher at once, but a certificate must 
first be procured from the county superintendent, whose office 
was located at Waukon, the county seat, fifteen miles away. I 
easily procured the needed certificate. 

Being now armed with official authority, I presented myself 
at the new stone school-house one blue Monday morning in 
January, 1865, and began the role of a country pedagogue. 

Arriving early in the morning from Harper's Ferry I un- 
locked the establishment and found nothing but cheerless walls, 
damp and musty. A few benches were scattered about the 
room, and a pine desk was stuck in one corner to accommodate 
the presiding autocrat. An old Franklin stove that might have 
warmed its namesake in the Revolutionary War opened its 



IOWA EXPERIENCE. 1 59 

broad jaws for the reception of fuel. The wood-pile outside was 
unchopped. As some of the " big boys " gathered in, I advised 
them to procure an axe from one of the neighbors and split 
enough wood to dispel the cold and frost that had settled on 
the stone wall, and even fringed the '' Old Franklin " with fan- 
tastic embellishments. After digging about in three feet of snow 
that surrounded the wood-pile and school-house, we finally 
fished out enough to make a roaring fire and warm the shiver- 
ing children that vied with each other in scorching their clothes 
in an effort to straddle the stove. 

When 9 o'clock arrived I rang the bell with the air of a suc- 
cessful auctioneer, keeping a stern face that would have done 
great credit to a philosopher of sixty, much more to a youth of 
twenty-two who had just launched out as an educator. 

When silence prevailed I rose at the desk and addressed the 
seventy-five scholars who came from the snow-clad farms oi 
Allamakee. 

I merely said that I had been employed by the trustees to 
teach the school for a period of six months and hoped that the 
boys would behave like gentlemen and the girls act like ladies. 
In conclusion, I had only to lay down the simple rule that when 
they did right I should reward them, and when they did wrong 
I should certainly punish them. 

These remarks were taken by the younger children with hu- 
mility, but a few of the larger boys winked at each other, as 
much as to say, " That's an old gag ; that can't frighten scholars 
who have ducked bigger teachers than you are. It might be 
well to give that speech to the ' marines,' but for the stalwart 
sons of Erin living among the grubs of Allamakee it will not 
do ; the colors of your eloquence will not wash ! " Notwith- 
standing this imagined reply to my first and last effort as a 
teacher, I proceeded at once to bring order out of chaos and 
to class the school. 

The third day of my mission brought about a free fight 
among the scholars, during my absence at dinner. When school 



l6o JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

was called I proceeded to ascertain the cause of the row. It 
seems that a son of Erin and a waif from the Fatherland dis- 
puted about the honor and bravery of their ancestors, and the 
other scholars joined in the fight with a clannish spirit that 
would have been an honor to the bogs of Ireland or the upland 
slopes of Scotland. After due investigation, I implicated only 
seventeen boys and girls in the fight, sending the residue of my 
institution to their seats and books. When all was ready, I 
went to business with a fine hickory ruler that had been pro- 
vided in anticipation of just such troubles. The smaller schol- 
ars took their light punishment with suppressed sobs, and went 
to their benches with sulks. The leader of the riot was the 
only one who attempted to resist and treat my proposal to whip 
him with contempt. I reasoned with the stalwart Hibernian, 
impressing upon him his violation of school rules and my in- 
tention to have equality of punishment. He finally squared 
off, swore with the swagger of a prize-fighter, but ere he could 
execute his threat I hit him with the rule just under the ear and 
sent him to the floor in a shiver of pain. A dipper of water 
brought him to, in tears, when I finished his punishment by 
additional blows on his hands, sending him to his seat as if 
nothing had occurred to disturb the equanimity of the school. 

From that day to the close of my term in June I was boss of 
the institution, and had no further occasion to punish any of the 
scholars. When the examination and exhibition closed on the 
last day, scholars, parents, and friends left me with thanks, 
praise, and tears ; and many of my dear old pupils will remem- 
ber to this day the pleasant hours and loving chats we had 
under the noon-day shade of Paint-Rock Church and the de- 
lightful strolls we took among those rugged hills and blooming 
vales. 

My experience as a village schoolmaster will long be remem- 
bered ; and the beautiful site of the school, church, and graveyard 
was all that the most romantic and poetic heart could wish. Sit- 
uated on a high hill, overlooking the rolling plains to the west, 



IOWA EXPERIENCE. l6l 

and commanding a view to the south and east, with the waters 
of the Mississippi sweeping along to the sea, it was no wonder 
that my young heart swelled with emotion when contemplating 
the beauty of the landscape. How often have I lingered in the 
tangled walks of the old churchyard, under a spreading oak, 
and gazed in rapture at the golden glory of the setting sun, as 
the storm clouds in the west swept across the cardinal colors of 
the day. My pathway through woods and fields was made 
radiant with boys and girls. Sleigh rides, parties, and occa- 
sional balls at Harper's Ferry intervened to banish the mo- 
notony ot country life, and while I kept the face of a stern 
philosopher in the school-room, I acted with all the vanity and 
freedom of a drum-major in the ball-room. 

Spelling matches at the country schools were occasions for 
fun and opportunities for the belles and beaux to indulge in 
the never-ceasing eccentricities of Cupid, who shoots his arrows 
where least expected, inflicting wounds that never heal and 
pleasant pangs that never die. 

My patrons and scholars insisted that I should give a spelling 
match at the old school-house, and as I was always ready and 
willing to indulge the love of sociability, I readily consented to 
the proposition. The evening arrived, and with it came more 
than a hundred of the neighbors and their children, anxious to 
battle for the mastery in spelling, after which dancing was in- 
dulged in to the great satisfaction of all present. 

A match was soon arranged by two rural beauties, who tossed 
up for the first choice of spellers. I was chosen by one of the 
contestants, and so it went on to the end of the programme, 
when two lines of warlike intellects stood facing each other for 
battle. The person who missed stepped down and out, and the 
one that remained on the floor to the last carried off the prize 
apd became the noted champion of the evening. After the first 
round, a simple word was given to me by the umpire, and, 
ludicrous to relate, I went down at the first shot, retiring to one 
of the benches amid the laughter of the whole audience. 



l62 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

A beautiful young girl of fifteen carried off the prize, receiv- 
ing the encomiums of the whole house for her remarkable 
memory and precise information. I know it is inexcusable for 
a man of education to be a bad speller ; but, even to this day, 
I am liable to insult the memory of Noah Webster, and even 
rattle the bones of Lindley Murray, in violating his rule that a 
verb must agree with its nominative in number, person, and case. 

The schoolmaster is a wonderful man among yeomanry, and 
the greatness of Goldsmith's pedagogue may well illustrate his 
rural renown : 

** The village all declared how much he knew, 
'Twas certain he could write and cipher too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage. 
And even the story ran that he could gauge; 
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; 
While words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he knew." 

At the conclusion of my school I went to Lansing, and through- 
the instrumentality of the county treasurer, a shrewd and pleas- 
ant gentlemen, was employed to collect delinquent taxes, long 
due by the rustic citizens of Franklin and Linton townships. 
With the necessary books and a commission as deputy collector, 
I took up my headquarters at the village of Volney, and adver- 
tised that I was ready and willing to collect delinquent taxes. 
I waited for my pronunciamento to take effect, but as the good 
people did not rush frantically from the hills and valleys in re- 
sponse to my call, I concluded to go to the mountain, since the 
mountain would not come to me. 

The life of a delinquent tax-collector is not a happy one — 
particularly where the ground has been worked over^ for ten 
years by ambitious deputies. The doctor is looked upon with 
fear and anxiety by his patient ; the lawyer is tolerated with 
hope and suspicion by his client ; the undertaker comes with a 



IOWA EXPERIENCE. 1 63 

melancholy face to perform the last sad duty for mankind ; but 
the delinquent tax-collector is looked upon in his official capac 
ity as a combination of all the horrors — a pest to be avoided 
and a nuisance to be abated. 

I spent the month of July, 1865, among the hills of Yellow 
River, coaxing and threatening the good people with penalties 
unless they paid the real and personal taxes demanded in the 
name of the Hawkeye State, and was unusually successful in 
securing the payment of taxes that had slumbered for many 
years. I shall never forget the bold move I made on an old 
Irish bachelor who lived like an anchorite on a forty -acre farm 
perched on a rugged height overlooking Yellow River. He 
owed the State of Iowa about $50, but had for more than ten 
years evaded every tax-collector who came to the neighbor- 
hood. They could never find him at home when endeavoring 
to give the notice of levy, and although the deputies often 
climbed the bluffs in pursuit of the delinquent, they never suc- 
ceeded in getting the taxes. 

Duly armed with my legal documents and an army " pepper- 
box," I started away one bright morning through the crooked 
defiles leading out from Volney, and began to climb the heights 
reaching to the lands of the fierce old bachelor. I imagined 
myself for awhile in the highlands of Scotland or among the 
heather mountains of Ireland, in search of some bold outlaws 
who worked the secrets of the still. While thus musing, in con- 
templation wild, I beheld a curl of smoke rising out of a clump 
of trees and saw a yoke of oxen grazing near a cornfi.eld in the 
vicinity of the old bachelor's cabin. I let down a pair of bars, 
turned the cattle into the cornfield, and awaited developments. 
The joy of the cattle was great while crunching the young 
corn, and all went merry as a marriage-bell until the old bachelor 
rushed from his cabin, bareheaded, and yelling like a trooper 
at the oxen. The thought of saving his crop made him obliv- 
ious of my presence. As he rushed by me in his flight after 
the cattle, I cried, " Halt ! " He looked at me with a gaze of 



164 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

astonishment, showing all the rage of a trapped lion. I at once 
made known my business, and with the legal documents in one 
hand and a revolver in the other, served due notice on the de- 
linquent, levied on his yoke of oxen to satisfy the debt, and 
thus, with the air of a victorious General, maintained the maj- 
esty of the law and sustained the honor of Iowa, while threaten- 
ing to blow off the head-piece of a citizen if he dared to decline 
my demand or interfere with me in the execution of my office. 

When he realized the trap he had fallen into and saw me 
drive off his cattle, he immediately sued for quarter ; and before 
I got back to Volney he had caught up with me and tendered 
the taxes with all penalties and costs attached. I gave the old 
fellow his receipt in full, released the oxen, shook his hand, 
bade him be virtuous and consequently happy ; and I have no 
doubt but that the lesson he received gave him greater respect 
for human laws, and a wise discrimination to know that a legal 
document, backed up by a pistol, is not to be ignored. 

My duties as a tax-gatherer soon ceased, and after deducting 
my per cent. I turned in the balance to the treasurer of Alla- 
makee County. 

I had often heard that it was sweet to die for one's country ; 
and, as I was filled with hope and poetry, I concluded to cast 
my drag-net into the Republican county convention that assem- 
bled at Waukon on the i8th of August, 1865. 

After a laborious campaign among the primary caucuses, 
making all the promises incident to a canvass of a Congress- 
man, assuring the honest voters that they were the salt of the 
earth and I but the humble instrument to wait for and record 
their will, the convention met, and I received a unanimous vote 
as candidate for the legislature. As this high honor came un- 
sought r?) to a man of twenty-two, who had lived in the county 
scarcely a year, I could do nothing else but accept in a mod- 
est (?) speech, expressing the usual surprise and informing the 
convention of my unworthiness ; then soaring aloft in the realms 



IOWA EXPERIENCE. 1 6 



of native eloquence, I pledged undying love to the principles of 
the Republican party and proposed to bear onward the stand- 
ard of freedom until the election sunset of October shone pure 
and bright upon the victorious folds of the star-spangled banner 
planted upon the crumbling ramparts of Democracy ! 

I made a joint canvass with the Democratic nominee, who 
was more than fifty years of age — an old stager who could 
change his political opinions with as much ease and facility as 
a diver changes his suit. 



SENATOR ALLISON. 

I shall never forget the first time I met Col. William B. Alli- 
son. It was under rather peculiar circumstances, and in the 
month of September, 1865, at Waukon, Iowa, the county seat 
of Allamakee. 

Governor Stone was running on the Republican ticket, and 
the State issue was an amendment striking the word " white " 
out of the Hawkeye constitution, so that the black man or any 
other man might have equal rights before the law in the State 
of Iowa. 

At the time above mentioned Colonel Allison was making a 
Congressional canvass of the twelve counties in his district, and 
dropped in at Waukon the very evening that Paulk and myself 
were to enlighten the natives at the court-house. It was rather 
embarrassing for Allison, as Paulk did not wish to divide time 
with the Congressman, but I finally prevailed on him to let 
Allison have from 7:30 to 8 o'clock, and he could take another 
hour, while I would be satisfied with half an hour to close the 
debate. 

The court-house was packed with ladies and gentlemen, and 
a large gang of Democratic " heelers," headed by Johnny Arm- 
strong, the editor of the Lansing Journal, came a distance of 
twelve miles with the avowed purpose of preventing me from 
speaking, because of the previous " roastings " I had given 
Paulk and the "copperheads." 



l66 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Mr. Allison began his speech in due time upon the State issues 
and the contemplated reconstruction laws that were about to be 
enacted in Congress. His remarks were calm, solid, and direct. 
Speaking of striking the word " white" out of the Constitution, 
he said, among other things : 

The word "white" in our Constitution is now obselete, since 
the Emancipation Proclamation of President Lincoln knocked the 
shackles off four millions of slaves and lifted them into the sunlight 
of freedom. It is a relic of a tyrannical oligarchy, and should no 
more pollute or disgrace our fundamental legal instrument, but be 
swept away to the other rubbish piles of Democracy. 

The slave of yesterday is the freeman of today, and he must and 
shall be protected by all the power of the General Government. 
Four millions of these recent bondsmen lift their hands and faces 
to us imploringly to take them out of the slough of slavery and 
ignorance and bear them up to the high plane of freedom. Shall 
we deny the wail and cry of humanity? No! Every mortal in this 
grand Nation must stand equal before the law, and the noble sol- 
diers who bore our starry flag through many fierce and bloody 
battles will still see to it that every man shall be protected in his 
inalienable and God-given rights. 

These were brave words at that time and place, and the black 
man, North or South, who shall ever prove recreant to the lofty- 
Lincoln, the eloquent Phillips, the glorious Garrison, and the alert 
and persistent Allison deserves no memorial to mark his remains. 

Mr. Paulk arose and attempted to reply to the Congressman, 
but his argument was about as strong as a bag of feathers let 
loose against a blizzard, while the phalanx of facts put forth by- 
Mr. Allison remained unanswerable. 

Turning around, the old gent accused me of being an inter- 
loper in Iowa, a " carpetbagger " from Kentucky, a beardless 
presumption, a boy without a residence, and nothing but my 
cheek to pay taxes upon ! 

After this broadside shot at the " subscriber," I rose to close 
the debate. I had found out a good many things against the 
record of this political hack. I pictured him as a sutler soldier, 
a " copperhead," " Knight of the Golden Circle," and a former 



SENATOR ALLISON. 1 67 

carpetbagger from Vermont, who turned his coat when he 
migrated West for boodle, beans, and barley. In fact, I ripped 
him up the back in grand shape with all the satire and invective 
that a fellow " raised " in Kentucky might be expected to indulge 
in. My crowd cheered to the echo, but the Lansing " gang " 
hissed, yelled, and tried their best to howl me down, and per- 
sisted in breaking up the meeting, but Col. Mc Adams and Cap- 
tain Granger, with a platoon of recently discharged soldiers, 
hustled the leaders of the riot out of the court-house, and old 
Paulk, their leader, followed in red-faced disgust, leaving me 
master of the situation and in charge of the fine audience. 

Walking over to the hotel, after the meeting, Mr. Allison 
asked me how I could expect to be elected in a Democratic 
county of more than 300 majority. I replied that I did not 
expect to be elected, but to reduce the majority and pester and 
worry the " copperhead " heathens to the best of my ability ; 
and I further remarked that the " doughfaces " of the North 
and " guerrillas " of the South had barely enough courage to 
linger in the rear and assassinate, but not enough to go the front 
and fight like gentlemen and soldiers, and the boys who wore 
the " blue " and those who wore the " gray " had an utter con- 
tempt for the " fire in ,the rear " phalanx, and mankind would 
always despise assassins. 

Allison coincided with my impulsive statements and re- 
marked : " What are you going to do after the election ? " 
"I'm going to resume the study of law if I can find some 
lawyer to furnish me a desk and a split-bottom chair, with 
Blackstone, Kent, Chitty, Greenleaf, et alT He laughed, and 
said " Well, good-night ; come down to Dubuque after you're 
counted out, and I'll try and find you a corner." 

The day after the vote was announced, having lost all my 
enthusiasm in the election, I embarked on the fine steamer 
Gray Eagle, at Lansing, and proceeded to the city of Dubuque. 
Standing on the hurricane deck of the steamer as she swept 
away from the wharf, and rounded toward the bald bluff of 



l68 JEW^ELS OF MEMORY. 

South' Lansing, I breathed a sigh of regret at leaving relatives, 
pupils, and friends, where youth and love had mingled in th* 
scene, and confidence and ambition cast a glow of supreme 
happiness through the halls of memory. Some very dear friends 
are yet living in Iowa, who may call to mind the scenes I have 
depicted ; and, perhaps, in the evening twilight, when the walk- 
ing shadows of night climb the river bluffs, they may recount 
to their children and friends the romantic career of a country 
pedagogue and would-be legislator. 

Arriving in Dubuque, I called at the law office of Mr. Allison, 
the Congressman I met in the late canvass. I told him of my 
desire to continue the study of law, which had been interrupted 
b}' the war. He at once secured me a clerkship in the office of 
Henry A. Wiltz, the United States surveyor general for Iowa 
and Wisconsin, at the same time tendering the use of his books 
and office. 

I spent the winter of 1866 and the summer and fall of the 
same year in the diligent study of the law, pondering on the 
wisdom of Blackstone, Chitty, Kent, Parsons, and Greenleaf, 
with all the enthusiasm of youth and ambition, receiving my 
license to practice as an attorney in the courts of Iowa on the 
nth of November, 1866. 

The memories that cluster about Dubuque can never be for- 
gotten, and the friends that assisted me in the old Julian build- 
ing in the study of law present themselves today in the form 
and appearance of yesterday. 

Mr. George Crane and Capt. T. Palmer Rood were the law 
partners of Mr. Allison, and while he was mostly engrossed 
in political calculations, they attended strictly to the details and 
work of an important firm. Mr. Crane was a man of fine judg- 
ment, and had the entire confidence of his clients and the respect 
of the bar, which numbered some of the best lawyers in Iowa, 
such as Bissell, Shiras, Adams, Mulkern, Samuels, Knight, 
Wilson, Cram, Henderson, Cooley, O'Donnell, and a rare 
g^enius named Charles McKenzie. 



SENATOR ALLISON. 169 

Senator Allison was appointed a colonel on the staff of Gov- 
ernor Kirkwood soon after Fort Sumter was fired upon in the 
spring of 1 86 1. He rendered invaluable services in enlisting, 
organizing, and equipping Iowa troops for the battlefield. His 
energy and patriotism went hand in hand night and day, until 
the Hawkeye State filled its quota, and gave to President Lin- 
coln, for the defense of the Union, a corps of gallant soldiers 
that may have been equaled by some of their comrades, but 
never surpassed by any on the great battlefields of the Re- 
bellion. 

I have known Colonel Allison intimately for thirty years, and 
I can say, in all candor, that I never met a public man, and I 
met and knew many national characters, who could work so 
silently, patiently, and effectively as he has in all the varied ant' 
complicated duties that fell to his lot. Duty and work are his 
watchwords, with faith and friendship the main elements in his 
close-knit composition. Like the coral insect, he labors silently 
and incessantly, paying particular attention to details, and you 
never hear or see his work until it is complete. 

As a financier he has no superior in the United States Congress. 
For years the impress of his financial genius has been in- 
grafted on the internal revenue and cusiom laws of the Nation 
through the Committee of Ways and Means of the House. 
For nearly eighteen years in the Senate, through the Finance 
and Appropriation Committees, he, with Morrell and Sherman, 
have been the wheel horses of practical financial legislation. 

I say it without fear of contradiction, and his compeers I 
believe will agree with me, that Allison is the best all-around 
equipped man in the United Congress for go-ahead, practical, 
business, common sense, greenback, gold, and silver legislation. 
He never made a friend that he lost ; and many a political foe has 
he turned into friendly accord. He never made a personal or 
political promise that he did not fulfill, sooner or later, and those 
who know him best love him most. He is modest, laborious, 
and shrewd, and has a very fine conception that this is a Nation 



lyo JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

with a great big N — where luxuries, internal and external, should 
be taxed liberally to defray the expenses of the Government, 
and taxes on the necessaries of life lightened as much as com- 
mon sense and justice demands. 

Allison is conservative, on general principles, but when you 
arouse him on a special point, where the interest of the Nation 
is at stake, he throws aside his velvet cloak and steps into the 
arena like a Roman gladiator and hurls javelins of radical logic 
at his opponents. He has innate pride without vanity, con- 
tinuousness, without cringing, manhood without mediocraty 
and absolute bravery without any bravado. Around the social 
board he is the toast of his friends, as tender and kind as a 
woman and as forgiving as a philosopher. Like Grant, he is 
true to his friends, and once inside the circle of his confidence, 
no power on earth can alienate his heart or chill the sentiment 
of his soul for those he loves and admires. 



ORATIONS. 



HECTOR. 

fA Newfoundland Dog. Kentucky : 1857.] 

My Dear Schoomates : We come to praise and bury Hector. 
For many long years he has been our daily and nightly com- 
panion, sharing with us the sports of school and our truant 
rambles to " Conners' swimming hole," at the bend of the 
creek. 

Hector was descended from an illustrious family of New- 
foundland, where arctic winds, drifting snows, and floating ice 
fill up the measure of the fleeting year. He was stricken with 
pneumonia on Christmas Day, and peacefully passed away as 
the old year lapsed into the realm of shadows. 

Spring, with her young wild flowers ; Summer, with her red- 
ripe apples and blackberries ; Autumn, with her forest nuts, and 
wild, old Winter, with his hoary locks, found Hector by our 
side, ready at all times to lead or protect us. 

No contumely, sticks, stones, or abuse could chill the warmth 
of his morning greeting or the friendly wag of his expressive 
ears, nose, and tail. Although often rebuked and humiliated 
by our thoughtless conduct, he held a forgiving spirit and ex- 
tended his great, black paw as a token of sincere reconciliation. 
We shared with him our lunches, and in moonlight hours, when 
we played " hide-and-seek," he led the town dogs in vociferous 
glee when we ran to touch the base ! 

At every frolic, fight, or fire, he was first on deck, and the 
town marshal often sought his aid to accelerate the movements 

(171) 



172 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

of lazy, vagrant hogs that made the street their forage pasture 
and the sidewalk their sty. 

On election day, when crowds of town and country revelers 
grew hilarious at the saloon or drugstore, Hector might be seen 
with dignified mien and sober countenance contemplating the 
the weakness and folly of lordly man, who got drunk and did 
not have as much sense as a dog ! How often have we seen 
him with reins in his mouth, carrying on his back little Nellie 
Gray or Billy Bascom, and sometimes trotting before a cart 
to the delight of the rider and the admiration of the public. 
His master, the tavern keeper, and old Mose, the stable boy, 
will greatly miss their faithful watch-dog, but we boys will never 
again find such a friend. 

Hector has passed away from the sorrows and shadows of 
life to the sunlight of a glorious death. His generous spirit 
reigns where suns and stars shine eternal, and where the cruel 
midgets of mankind cannot practice upon him their ingrati- 
tude. Hector had not time enough to be a hypocrite. He was 
simply an honest dog. He saw things direct without any of the 
trappings of deceit, rose before the dawn, held up his heart and 
head at high noon, and when the sun went down over the waters 
of Slate, he repaired to his quarters at the tavern like a decent 
log and partook of such biscuits, beef, and bones as black Mose 
manipulated for his edification. 

While Pharisees preached, Hector practiced what he felt, and 
the poorest person in rags could always command his society and 
depend on his protection. He was none of your stuck-up, 
parlor, dilletante dogs that needed an introduction before taking 
you into "their set." No, indeed; we knew him as an every- 
day dog, wearing his curly hair on his broad back as God had 
fashioned it, and giving his cheering voice to all our pleasures. 

Hector had a clean conscience for a creed, and divine instinct 
for his rule of life. He was a rough ashler, cracked from the 
quarry of truth, and stood as a shining example to the dogs of 
the town, that regarded him as a leader in all their moonlight, 



ORATIONS. 173 

midnight meetings, when holding canine conventions beneath 
the sparkUng stars and magic moon. Hector was a good 
neighbor, a staunch friend, and never garnished his voice or 
deeds with the hideous harangues of hypocrisy or ingrati- 
tude. 

Lord Byron's Hues to his dog, " Boatswain," at the expense 
of mankind, might well be uttered over the remains of Hector. 

" When some proud son of man returns to earth, 
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth. 
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, 
And storied urns record who rests below ; 
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen. 
Not what he was, but what he should have been ; 
But the poor dog ; in life the firmest friend. 
The first to welcome, foremost to defend. 
Whose honest heart is still his master's own. 
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, 
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth. 
Denied in Heaven the soul he held on earth ; 
While man, vain insect, hopes to be forgiven, 
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. 
Oh, man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour. 
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, 
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, 
Degraded mass of animated dust! 
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat. 
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit. 
By nature vile, ennobled but by name. 
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. 
Ye who perchance behold this simple urn. 
Pass on — it honors none you wish to mourn ; 
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, 
I never knew but one ; and here he lies ! " 



n. 

DECORATION DAY. 
We stand upon the hilltop of patriotism to pay truthful trib- 
ute to the memory of our loyal dead. 

Let us, the survivors of " grim-visaged war," renew our de- 



174 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

votion to the great Republic and swear by the blood of our dear 
old comrades that the " Red, White, and Blue," under which 
they fought and died, shall symbolize forever — all freedom for 
all men ! 

Rebellion, with its horrible visage, has gone like the echo of 
a vanished dream, and its voteries are buried forever in the dark 
waters of oblivion, while that glorious flag for which our com- 
rades fought, waves triumphant over a consolidated Nation. 

The Union is absolutely secure, and no domestic or foreign 
foe shall ever again jeopordize the integrity of the Republic. 
The pines of Maine, the palmettoes of South CaroHna, and the 
orange trees of California have made a tripartite bower over a 
united country that shall shelter and protect all the people as 
long as the Atlantic and Pacific, with their bounding billows, 
beat against our rock-bound shores. 

The debt of gratitude due the battle warrior can never be 
fully liquidated. The Nation that forgets its soldiers and sailors 
should be erased from the face of the globe, and over its remains 
should settle the stagnant waters of oblivion. 

The progress of the world has been carried forward on the 
point of the bayonet, and the flash of the soldier's sword has 
lit up the pathway of liberty and terrified the tools of tyranny. 

Alexander, with fifty thousand men formed into the irre- 
sistable Macedonian phalanx, conquered a million of Persians 
at the battle of Arbela, overran the Oriental world, carrying the 
letters and architecture of immortal Greece into the very heart 
of Asia, making princes and potentates the playthings of his 
vaulting ambition and writing his name on the highest pinnacle 
of military splendor. 

Monuments and cities arose in the track of his victorious 
army like waterspouts from a stormy ocean, and he seemed 
to wield the wand of the Magi and rub the lamp of Aladdin 
with the facility of a necromancer and universal genius, who 
never knew defeat until the sparkling wine of the Hercules cup 
sent his sighing soul to the realms of Pluto. 



ORATIONS. 175 

Caeser flashed into the Roman world like a brilliant meteor 
in a midnight sky, lighting up the pathway of the Empire with 
the flashing swords and lances of his loyal legions, that scaled 
the sky-kissing Alps, camped under the shadows of the pyra- 
mids, and carried his victorious eagles through the forests of 
Germany, Gaul, and Brittain. 

And then turning his invincible legions on Rome, he crossed the 
Rubicon, marched triumphantly into the imperial city, routing 
Pompey and his senatorial compeers into Spain, Greece, and 
Egypt, until at last the head of his great rival was presented as 
a bloody oflering to his towering ambition. As soldier, states- 
man, orator, historian, and poet he will be grandly rnentioned 
down the rolling ages to the last syllable of recorded time, while 
Brutus and Cassius, his cowardly assassins, will be mentioned 
only to be execrated for their dastard perfidy and ingratitude. 

Napoleon, the classic Corsican, has left his indellible foot- 
prints on the sands of time, and so long as Lodi, Austerlitz, 
Marengo, and the fatal Waterloo are remembered, this giant 
military and civic genius will be admired by millions of man- 
kind. 

He rises before us — 

** Like some tall cliff that lifts its awful form ; 
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm ; 
Though 'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread — 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head ! " 

And yet, Alexander, Caeser, and Napoleon fought for per- 
sonal glory, conquest, and Empire, rearing a hecatomb of human 
bones as a bloody mount for their demoniac and insane ambi- 
tion. 

But, in our own God-given Republic, Washington, Jackson, 
and Grant fought for a Government of the people, by the peo- 
ple, and for the people. 

Lincoln, by a single stroke of his inspired pen, erased the dark 
blot of slavery from the escutcheon of the Nation, freeing four 
millions of bondsmen, and yet, after all, it was the soldier Grant 



176 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

and his comrades that punctuated with his sword the strength 
and might of Lincoln's pen. 

Here rest the grand warriors who swung the trip-hammer of 
battle that smashed the red-hot blazing bloom of the Con- 
federacy, and knocked off forever the galling shackles of the 
slave. Here sleep the brilliant officers and brave men who 
sacrificed themselves on the bloody altar of their country and 
died for the principles of heaven-born freedom. 

Here let us dedicate an everlasting temple to heroism. This 
green sward shall be a mausoleum of heroic hearts, its dome the 
bending heavens, and its altar candles the watching stars of 
God. Year after year let us assemble at this mecca, and kneel- 
ing by the graves of brave men, let the living clasp hands in 
fervency of friendship and strew sweet flowers upon the mould- 
ering remains of our loyal dead. 

A few more days and years will end our earthly career, but 
when we look, for the last time, upon that grand old flag, with 
its celestial colors, we will have the soul-lit satisfaction that our 
labor and blood, and that of our dear dead comrades, sustained 
it on the field of slaughter and transmitted it to posterity 
without a stripe extinguished or a star lost from its brtlliant 
folds. 

OLD SOLDIERS. 
[Dedicated to George U. Morris Post, G. A. R., Georgetown, D. C.] 

Our ranks are growing thinner, every year, 
And Death is still a winner, every year ; 

Yet, we still must stick together, 

Like the toughest kind of leather, 
And in any kind of weather, every year. 

Our comrades have departed, every year, 
They leave us broken hearted, every year; 

But their spirits fondly greet us 

And they constantly entreat us 
To come, that they may meet us, every year. 



ORATIONS. 177 

Our steps are growing slower, every year, 
Pale Death is still a mower, every year ; 

Yet, we faced him in the battle 

Amid the musket's rattle. 
And defied his final edict, every year. 

We are growing old and lonely, every year ; 
We have recollection only, every year ; 

And we bled for this grand Nation 

On many a field and station 
And with any kind of ration, every year. 

Many people may forget us, every year, 
And our enemies may fret us, every year ; 

But, while onward we are drifting, 

Our souls with hope are lifting 
To heavenly scenes still shifting, every year. 

In the May-time of the flowers, every year, 
We shall live in golden hours, every year ; 

And our deeds be sung in story, 

Down ihe ages growing hoary 
With a blaze of living glory, every year ! 

Leonadas, at Thermopalea; Horatio, at the bridge, and 
Wincklereid, at the ice-bound Swiss pass, were not inspired 
by more lofty courage than Grant in the Wilderness, Sheridan 
at Winchester, and Sherman in his March to the Sea. 

The sunlight of liberty shone on their brow, and the love of 
home and country centered in their hearts. Monumental mar- 
ble, granite, and bronze will long perpetuate their glorious deeds, 
but their name and fame at last rest in the hearts of the people 
and shall linger as long as suns and stars sparkle in their track- 
less spheres, 

A thousand years my own Columbia shall be thy portion, 
until one grand universal Republic shall bless the world 
and its mammouth pillars rest on the broken bones of mon- 
archy. 

The self-styled lords of royalty must dismount from the backs 



lyS JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

of the people and work and walk in the ranks of mankind or 
depart forever from the surface of the globe. 

The electric lights of science has lit up the rotten nooks of 
imperial dinasties and taught the people of all lands that those 
who pretend to rule by Divine right are but the leperous re- 
mains of robber barons and licentious queens. 

The shining dome of our National Capitol, speaking through 
the lips of the Goddess of Liberty, calls to the down-trodden of 
foreign lands to fall into line and march westward, where the 
star of empire takes its course, and where the American Con- 
tinent, with all its outlying islands, shall acknowledge no 
master but the American Congress and no flag but the Stars and 
Stripes ! 

Not in vain the distance beckons ; 
Forward, forward, let us range- 
Let the great world spin forever 
Down the ringing grooves of change. 

We must build up the strongest navy that the world has ever 
known and erect coast defences that will resist all the forces 
that monarchy can send against us, and above all we must in-, 
graft on our system of public schools, as well as in our colleges 
and universities, a perfect military education, where companies 
of soldiers and sailors may be graduated each year with the 
training of West Point and Annapolis. 

When this is done the grasping, robbing, and murdering 
propensity of monarchy will respect the Monroe doctrine in 
letter and spirit and let this Republic forever alone. 

Who will care for these loved mounds when we are gone ? 
Who will then strew roses and plant bright flowers ? Other 
patriotic hands of brave men and fair women will take up the 
roll of duty, and even when all but liberty has perished from 
the earth, the robin and the blue bird, the jay and the mocking 
bird, will warble at sunrise a reveille over the green sod that 
wraps their sacred clay. Nature herself will deck the graves of 
our fallen comrades, and the winds of Heaven will chant a 



ORATIONS. 179 

requiem to their memory, and kiss the loved spot where valor 
sleeps. 

Thousands of our dear, loved comrades rest in unknown 
graves far away from the loved ones at home. They slumber 
in the land of strangers, where the tears of love cannot moisten 
the green shroud that mantles their ashes. But if no kind hand 
is there to strew flowers, or loved eye to shed the tear of sorrow, 
there is One that reigns among the eternal stars that daily 
floods the unknown grave with sunshine, and nightly waters 
the budding wild flowers with dews from Heaven. 

Let Summer send her golden sunbeams down — 

In graceful salutations for the dead, 

And Autumn's host of leaflets brown, 

" Break ranks," above the fallen soldier's head, 

And we survivors of the fearful strife, 

While gathered here around their sacred clay, 

Let us anew pledge honor, fortune, life. 

That from our flag no star shall pass away. 

We reverently swear by all we love, 

By all we are, and all we hope to be. 

Yon starry flag, man's steadfast friend shall prove 

And wave forever o'er the brave and free ! 



IIL 
EMANCIPATION DAY. 

In August, 1873, I delivered the following oration before five 
thousand colored people at St. Louis on the occasion of their 
Emancipation celebration : 

Fellow Citizens : The emancipation of an enslaved race is 
a theme fit to be couched in noble eloquence, monumented in 
bronze, and sent to the latest posterity in poetry and song. 
From the earliest dawn of creation, when the morning stars 
sang together, human thoughts and human action lingered at the 
shrine of freedom; and even in the night of Egyptian darkness 
and bondage, the sweet psens of liberty sounded in the soul of 



l8o JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

man and found a responsive echo in the celestial realms of the 
angels. 

God, in his infinite wisdom, created all men free, and it was 
only tyrants who could forge the chains of slavery and find con- 
solation in the sharp music of the lash. Ignorance, selfishness, 
and fear make a man a tyrant, while intelligence, benevolence, 
and love fit him for the priceless blessings of freedom in this 
world, and open a way to his eternal home beyond the sun and 
stars. 

The celebration of this day will bring vividly to your mind the 
trials and tribulations and victories achfeved by your race in the 
West India Islands, where the genius of Toussaint L'Ouverture 
held at bay the cruelties of the proud Spaniard, and even foiled 
the expections of the great Napoleon. The pen and voice of 
L'Ouverture exposed the flimsy pretense of slavery, and his 
flashing sword cut in twain the Gordian knot of despotism and 
initiated the first successful emancipation movement. Today, 
in the mountain cabins of Hayti and San Domingo, the name 
of this apostle of liberty is sounded with love and veneration, 
and as the circling years go by, the fame of Toussaint L'Ouver- 
ture will grow brighter until every human heart pulsates with the 
sublime sentiments that actuated him in life, and made him a 
conqueror even in the torturing hours of death in the dungeon 
of the tyrant. The clanking chains of Napoleon and the excru- 
ciating pangs of cold, thirst, and hunger could not subdue the 
proud spirit of the black warrior and statesman. His free soul 
and glorious nature triumphed over the grave, and long after 
you and I are consigned to the dust from whence we sprung, 
this hero of San Domingo will live in monumental greatness, 
and inspire the world with his example. 

L'Ouverture laid broad and deep the foundation of the Re- 
public of San Domingo, and the day is near when the Stars 
and Stripes shall float over the land he died to save. God will 
work in his mysterious way, until the continent of Africa shall 
be disenthralled from the darkness of ignorance and slavery, 



ORATIONS. I8l 

when one universal Republic shall bless the world and realize 
the fondest hopes of the human heart. The wail of oppressed 
humanity comes sounding down the centuries ; the cry for lib- 
erty and light is wafted to us in every breeze that blows from 
ocean's boundless shores. 

" Hark! our brothers call, 

From Greenland's icy mountains, 
From India's coral strand ; 
Where Afric's sunny fountains 
Roll down their golden sand. 
From many an ancient river ; 
From many a palmy plain ; 
They call us to deliver 
Their land from error's chain." 

In the year 1620, two hundred and fifty-three years ago, 
forty-five slaves were landed on the James River in Virginia, 
forced from the coast of Africa and sold into bondage to cultivate 
the plantations of the Old Dominion. From this "direful 
spring" Columbia has suffered more unnumbered woes than 
Achilles' wrath brought to Greece. I can see now in the jungles 
of Africa the fierce spirit of Caucasian cupidity hunting down 
the first load of human freight. The simple life of the black 
man in his native wilds knew no master but his God, pictured 
in the rising sun, and smiling in the blue waters of the Nile and 
Ganges. 

I see that fatal ship stealing quietly out from the golden sands 
of Africa, speeding on its way to America, freighted with human 
misery and terrible grief. Would to God that she had sunk to 
the bottom of the ocean, and buried forever, even the just and 
the unjust, ere her prow touched the shores of Virginia, and 
began that reign of slavery that cursed our country and culmi- 
nated in the great conflict of 186 1. 

Great crimes deserve great punishment, and fearful has been 
our retribution. Two millions of human lives were sacrificed 
to purchase the emancipation of American slavery, and today 
the tears of the widows and orphans flow at the mention of 



lj2 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

tliose loved hearts that went down into the dark valley of death 
in the musical whiz of the Minie rifle, or the roar of the Rod- 
man gun. 

The colored people of this Nation have great cause to boast 
of the deeds of their heroes. The first blood shed in the Amer- 
ican Revolution was that of Crispus Attucks, of Boston, Mass. 
In the Massacre of March 5, 1770, in an assault upon the 
British soldiers he fell for freedom and his native land. The 
blood of the slave has nourished the tree ol liberty, and under 
its wide-spreading branches you sit today basking in the sun- 
shine of equal rights, proud of your citizenship and ready at all 
times to strike for — 

•' The land of the free 
And the home of the brave ! " 

The freedom of American slavery required long years of 
education and toil. Adams, Jefferson, Clay, Garrison, and Phil- 
lips dug from the mountains the crude ore of liberty, but it was 
left to Lincoln, Seward, and Grant to put it through the furnace- 
heat of the Rebellion and forge out the trip-hammer that 
knocked forever the rusty shackles from four millions of 
slaves. The emancipation proclamation of Abraham Lincoln 
broke the back of the Rebellion. Its thunder-tones will go 
sounding down the ages, and the lightning flash of each sen- 
tence will irradiate the rugged road of the human race and 
light up the darkest nooks of imperial government. The mem- 
ory of Lincoln will live as long as human hearts pulsate with 
love of Hberty. 

Rooted firmly and deeply in the rifted rocks of time shall be 
his temple of everlasting glory. The mountains of Columbia 
lifting their heads into the boundless blue, and the murmuring 
rivers of the continent, shall mingle forever with his fame, but 
the noblest monument to his memory are the four million 
shackles struck from the galling limbs of the bondsmen. Already 
the lesson of the proclamation has found its way to the plains 



ORATIONS. 183 

of the Amazon and the bleak regions of the Ural . Mountains, 
where twenty million Russian serfs breathe at last the pure air 
of freedom. So shall the example of the immortal Lincoln 
continue to bless the human race, until, crowned with the dia- 
dem of liberty, we shall acknowledge the image of God in all 
men, and pluck from the calendar of our hearts the demon of 
caste and persecution. 

From my earliest years I hated the very name of slavery. 
The word burned upon my tongue and blistered in my heart. 
Even as a boy, in the land of Clay, I sighed for the hour to 
strike at the hell-born iniquity ; and when the clash of arms came 
I went out to battle for the perpetuation of the Union and the 
freedom of the slave. The first shot at Sumter sounded the 
death-knell of slavery, and it will echo in the hearts of genera- 
tions yet unborn, until every land and clime hears the sweet songs 
of liberty, and joins in the chorus of equality. 

Your own stout arms and valiant hearts struggled in the cause 
of freedom. Port Hudson and Fort Wagner will long be re- 
membered as among the bloodiest battles of the war, where the 
First Louisiana and Fifty-fourth Massachusetts colored regi- 
ments fought with terrible desperation, and made a page in 
American history that will transmit the glory of the black warrior 
to the last symbol of recorded time. 

Since the close of the war the behavior of the black man has 
been truly remarkable, for never in the history of the world 
did men come up so quick out of the dark forests of ignorance 
and bondage, and show such capacity for civil life and consti- 
tutional freedom. Lift up your eyes and hearts to God, and 
never despair. Seven centuries ago the Caucasian race was 
wandering half naked in the black forests of Germany, and the 
Scots and Picts of proud Albion were little above the wild ani- 
mals that furnished their food and raiment. 

In the Senate of the United States and Lower House of 
Congress, representatives of your race have sat side by side 
with white men, and have maintained their independence and 



184 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

manhood. Today you stand upon the same political platform 
with the greatest and best of your white fellow citizens, and even 
those who once held you in bondage have become reconciled 
to the logic of events. Forget, if you can, the cruelties of slavery 
in the gratitude you owe the Nation for clothing you with the 
inestimable power of the ballot — 

** A weapon that comes down as still 
As snow-flakes falling on the sod, 
And executes a freeman's will 
As lightning does the will of God ! " 

In conclusion, let me impress upon you the great importance 
of temperance, economy, education, and peaceful conduct 
toward your neighbors. Whether as laborers, mechanics, 
merchants, or professionals, you must rely upon yourselves, 
and by untiring perseverance and honesty procure a home, 
where the blessings of peace and prosperity shall crown the 
evening of life, and give you a taste of that immortal happiness 
found only in the beautiful land around the white throne of 
Jehovah, where the angels always sing and the light of Heaven 
shines eternal. 



IV. 
A TOAST TO WOMAN. 

LAt a Brooklyn St. Patrick's Banquet.] 

Woman is a great subject. I cannot imagine why you should 
always leave her until one of the last of the list of toasts, unless 
it be that when all else has departed man naturally flies to 
woman for consolation. The most endearing words are sweet- 
heart, sister, daughter, wife, mother, and the keystone to this 
royal arch of purity and love is woman. The touch of her 
warm hand lulls the sleeping babe to sweet repose, the glance 




Lincoln. 



ORATIONS. 185 

of her beaming eye thrills the soul of manhood, and in the golden 
sunlight of old age she clings with undying affection to the object 
of her love. Pure and patient at the cradle, faithful and endur- 
ing at the cross, she will receive the crown of immortal life 
beyond the sun and stars. In every land and clime the advance- 
ment of woman points to the pathway of civilization, and, 
although she speaks in various tongues, her language of love 
is universal, and her influence in home, church, and State marks 
the mile-stones of human progress. History is full of heroic 
women who led armies, died for the liberty of their country, 
and suffered the tortures of battle and the pangs of hospital 
experience. Cleopatra, the lovely Egyptian queen, the Maid 
of Orleans, whose white banner proclaimed victory ; Charlotte 
Corday, the peasant girl, who killed a heartless tyrant, and 
Florence Nightingale, the charity angel of modern times, are 
niched in historic grandeur, and ages yet unborn will sing the 
glory of their proud renown. But while these heroines of his- 
tory have left the impress of their genius upon the world, the 
quiet, loving, patient, heroine of home, who toils for the child 
and man she loves, claims most my respect and admiration. 
In the silent v^atches of the night she stoops with a nervous, 
listening ear over the pale face of the dying boy, and in her 
breaking heart holds his image to the grave. The bed of pain, 
the gloomy prison, the gallows, and the grave find her min- 
istering hand, and she is always ready to throw the mantle 
of charity over a fallen mortal and soothe the anguish of mis- 
fortune in the deepest vale of adversity. 

Who has not heard of the sad fate of the talented and beau- 
tiful Miss Curran, the aflianced bride of Robert Emmet, a young 
hero who lived for Ireland and her friends, and died for the 
immortal principles of right. The green graves of the broken- 
hearted beauty and her noble lover are the brightest gems in 
the crown of Ireland's sorrow, and in the coming years they 
will shine as diadems in her crown of victory. 



1 86 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

" Pile thick the amaranth and the myrtle o'er them, 
Let bright, green banners flash and flow, 
Roses that love and pansies thart deplore them. 
And lilies weeping from their hearts of snow ! " 

1 shall never forget a scene during the late war. At the bat- 
tle of Kennesaw Mountain, near Atlanta, I was wounded and 
left on the field to die. After a terrible encounter between the. 
contending armies of Sherman and Johnson, the sun went down 
upon that fraternal slaughter. 

Our bugles sang trace while the night clouds had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky, 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 
The weary to sleep and the wounded to die. 

In that terrible moment, left in the woods to the night winds 
and the twinkling stars, dying with pain and thirst, I beheld 
two angelic forms move over the battlefield, and as they ap- 
proached my prostrate form, with kind words and water to 
quench my burning thirst, I recognized two Sisters of Charity, 
whose white hoods shown like celestial light brought down 
from Heaven to cheer the drooping heart of man. Such is 
woman, fondest in decay, greatest- in adversity, and best in 
everything. 

Here's a toast, then to woman, heart true and free. 
Who quaffs off a cup to memory and me, 
And wafts o'er the billows sighs of regret 
For hours that are gone and suns that are set. 
And changeless as fate, who loves to the close 
Her wandering hero through strife and repose, 
Fresh in her beauty as dew on the rose. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 



THE STORY OF THE SAGE. 

[Dedicated to Goldwin Patten, actor.] 

I met a sage, decrepit, old, and gray. 

While plodding through his last declining day. 

And asked him, as he wandered down the vale. 

To tell me of his life's eventful tale. 

He leant upon his staff and paused awhile, 

Then gazed across the sea to some fair isle 

That met his fading vision through the gloom, 

Where roses blossom in eternal bloom. 

Fair youth, he said, my well-remembered years 

Arise before me now through smiles and tears, 

And take me back to love-lit, golden hours, 

When life was young, amid sweet fragrant flowers; 

My hopes were of the golden time to be. 

Or like a full-rigged ship upon the sea — 

Freighted with all the flashing hues of mind 

That thrill the soul or deify mankind. 

My boyhood pleasure was as bright as thine — 

Came lightly as the foam on rosy wine; 

But like the foam it quickly passed away 

And left me to another doubtful day. 

I fondly thought that when my manhood came 

I'd rush into the ranks and win a name 

That ages yet unborn would emulate. 

And grant me glory in both Church and State. 

In blooming age I sought for power and place, 

And won distinction in full many a race; 

But just as sweet perfection came to view 

The bowl was dashed and left me trials anew. 

(187) 



1 88 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

I sought the field of glory and of war, 
My hope as bright as yonder evening star; 
And there I heard the shot and shrieking shell 
That roared in terror, like a voice from hell. 
Upon the ramparts high I waved my flag, 
And struggled bravely up the mountain crag; 
But just as victory o'er me threw her spell 
I dropped the flag, faltered, wounded fell. 
A broken soldier who has known defeat 
Can fight and fall, but never can retreat. 
And now you see me just the sport of Fate, 
Its taunting voice still ringing out— too late. 
^ In legislative halls with words ornate 
I shone amid the thunders of debate. 
And reaped some glory with a loud applause 
For making many wholesome, honest laws. 
I walked among the noble and the great 
Who stood as pillars to the rising State; 
And while Dame Fortune promised every prize, 
I only caught a glimpse of her bright eyes. 
Yes, I have known a loving maid's embrace. 
Whose soul shone brightly in her cheering face, 
While laughing children clambered on my knee, 
And blessed me with the glory of their glee. 
Yet these have gone and left me weak and lone, 
With nothing here that I can call my own. 
Like yon bare pine that topples to decay. 
And droops above where all its fellows lay; 
Or like an eagle on some mountain height. 
With longing eyes, peers through the gathering night, 
Awaiting one that never shall again 
Soar with him grandly o'er the hill and plain. 
Then I had friends who filled my banquet hall. 
They drank my sparkling wine, both one and all; 
But when they saw and knew that I might fall. 
They left me rudely with life's bitter gall! 
But why repine for pleasure that is past. 
Or sigh for earthly power that cannot last; 
While people praise us for their fame and joy 
Erecting idols they will soon destroy? 
I wandered many years in foreign lands 



POETIC PEBBLES. 189 

From arctic regions to bright tropic sands, 

Seeking for perfect pleasure on the way, 

But never found it to the present day. 

In beauty's eyes, from Persia to Peru, 

I caught love glances as they darted through 

The veil that cruel custom seeks to hide 

What nature gave to show with honest pride. 

In Florence and in Rome I looked aghast 

At works of art that told me of the past. 

Which peopled every crumbling tower and pile 

With royal spirits from some fairy isle. 

The glowing canvas and the marble bust 

Have rescued heroes from the thickening dust 

That centuries of time accumulate 

Upon the name of those who serve the State; 

But yet, the time will come when even the great 

Are lost within the ruins of their State, 

And every glorious fame that thrilled the past 

Shall perish from the earth and die at last. 

Ah! here today you find me old and gray, 

A wreck where once ambition held its sway; 

Where every romance in the soul of youth 

Came lightly as the angel of the truth. 

Now you are young, and like the noble pine. 

But sure as fate, your steps must follow mine — 

While you may hear and see what I have seen, 

Your name be mentioned in immortal green; 

Yet still remember that no power or gold 

Can purchase an exemption to grow old. 

One hundred years have crowned my troubled way, 

And here I crumble with my mother clay; 

I'll take a last long look at yonder sun: 

Farewell! farewell! My fleeting life is done! 

He ceased, and sank into the gloom of night, 

And left behind no ray of cheering light. 

While all his conversation did but seem 

The vestige of a vain and vanished dream! 



I90 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



DECORATION DAY POEM. 

[Oak Hill Cemetery, May 30, 1895.] 

Grand Home of the Dead! we mourn as we tread 

Near the forms that crumble below; 
How sad and how still the graves on Oak Hill, 

'Neath the sunlight in bright golden glow. 

Here's a rough, rude stone, moss-grown and alone, 

Where old Time has left not a trace 
Of the name it bore in the days«of yore, 

After brain and body ceased race. 

Vain, vain is the thought; no one ever bought 

Exemption from final decay — 
To live and to rot, and then be forgot. 

The fate of the quick of today. 

The soldier and sage from age unto age 
Have slept 'neath these towering trees; 

The young and the old, the bright and the bold 
Are sung by the breath of the breeze. 

Brave Babcock in peace here finds his surcease 

From sorrows that troubled his life; 
And rests with his God, beneath the green sod, 

Away from this cold world of strife. 

Here Reno retires from war's flaming fires 

To shine with immortals above. 
And bivouac there, devoid of all care. 

In realms of infinite love. 

Here Morris, the brave, a king of the wave, 

Doth slumber beneath the old flag; 
Hero so grand, on the famed " Cumberland," 

And bold as a tall mountain crag. 

While ocean shall roar on rock-beaten shore 

The memory of Morris shall be 
A great loyal light for freedom's fair fight 

On river, on land, and on sea. 



POETIC PEBBLES. I9I 

And Stanton; the grand, stood out for this land, 

When Rebellion reared up its fierce face; 
Calmly reposes 'neath beds of sweet roses — 

A lone hero, in war's ruin race. 

His great iron arm kept the Union from harm 

While he smashed all the foes in its way — 
As great Lincoln, his Chief, looked on with deep grief 

At the war 'twixt the Blue and the Gray. 

As years roll along, with sorrow or song. 

His name shall grow braver and brighter — 
A Puritan true, who knew what to do 

With soldiers and Grant, the great fighter. 

Here sleeps fine Van Ness who knew no distress, 

While Burns expended his gold, 
A Senator true, who b'lieved in the Blue, 

A gentleman honest and bold. 

Great Lorenzo Dow, who never knew how 

To garnish his truth with a lie. 
Sleeps under these flowers through May's golden hours, 

Illumined by the sun and the sky. 

Here, Corcoran, the sage, Bishop Pinckney, broad gauge, 

Repose under marble so white; 
They've gone to a land, bright, blooming, and grand, 

Where never, up there, is a night. 

Here, John Howard Payne sings again that refrain 

That thrills us wherever we roam; 
O'er land or o'er sea, our hearts still shall be 

The Mecca of dear Home, Sweet Home. 

O'er the flight of the years, with smiles or with tears. 

The memory of Payne shall remain; 
And millions unborn, in twilight and morn 

Shall sing his immortal refrain. 

Let soldier and sage from age unto age 

Richly have all their merit and praise; 
But the poet will be a light for the free 

To the end of our last, dawning days. 



192 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Count Bodisco sleeps here, where trees shed a tear 
O'er the grave of the Muscovite peer — 

Away from all ill he rests on Oak Hill, 
A memory from year unto year. 

Dick Merrick lies here, a bright, brilliant seer. 

A lawyer of lingering renown, 
Who fought every wrong of the cruel and strong 

In county or city or town. 

Here rests the bright Blaine, in sunshine and rain. 

Who left his imprint on the Nation, 
A keen, brainy mind, devoted and kind, 

Well fitted to fill a great station. 

No shaft marks his grave to tell traveler or slave 

Where that proud, loyal heart lowly lies; 
Yet the tall pines of Maine sigh in sorrow for Blaine 
» As they toss their green heads to the skies. 

Our sweet little chila, s<d simple and mild, 

Sleeps here under roses so fair; 
Yet, soon we shall go to a clime where no woe 

Or sighs can corrode us with care. 

Mother and sister, sweetheart and wife. 

Repose from their labors on earth; 
Resting alone, away from all strife. 

Where the soul finds a happy, new birth. 

Yet the citizens dead have always been wed 
To Liberty, Friendship, and Truth — 

Must be honored as well as soldiers who fell 
In the pride of their brave, loyal youth. 

Then, strew sweetest flowers o'er the soldier, 

But remember the citizen, too. 
Who stood by his conscience in trouble — 

And supported the Gray or the Blue. 

God bless our grand Nation forever, 
God bless every heart, fond and true; 

G^od bless any soul that won't sever. 
The Gray from the Red, White, and Blue! 



POETIC PEBBLES. I93 



GRANT'S MUSTERED OUT ! 
Half-mast the flag, a heart brave and stout 
Surrenders at last; Grant's mustered out; 
Toll the bell slowly, moisten his sod, 
Peace to his ashes, glory to God! 

Battle and trial shall never again 
Harrow the hero in sunshine or rain; 
Gone to a land devoid of all doubt; 
His service is over — Grant's mustered out. 

His fame, like a light; shall shine through the years, 
Hallowed by memory and watered by tears — 
Flags that he carried shall long flap and flout, 
A record of glory is not mustered out! 

Donelson, Shiloh, the Wilderness too, 

Milestones immortal with deeds of the Blue: 

And this is the man that never knew rout, 

Till Fate told the world that — Grant's mustered out, 

Xations unborn shall visit his tomb, 
Reared by the people, and lasting as doom, — 
Mecca where manhood may kneel without doubt. 
Truth everlasting is not mustered out! 



KATIE AND I. 
[Suggested by my wife.] 
Katie and I sat singing, singing 

As the moon went down; 
While bells were loudly ringing, ringing 
In the far-off" town. 

Katie and I sat thinking, thinking 

Of the long ago; 
Sweet baby fingers lightly linking 

Memories under snow. 

Katie and I soon sleeping, sleeping 

'Neath the silent sod; 
Our spirits fondly greeting, greeting 

Children, rest and God. 



I^ JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



FAREWELL. 

Farewell! farewell! My heart is sad and lonely, 
While sailing o'er life's surging, stormy sea; 

My soul-lit thoughts are centered in thee only — 
The sweetest being in my memory. 

Farewell! farewell! The secret of my longing 
Cannot be told to those of common clay — 

Yet, from the past your plighted vows come thronging, 
And thrill me with a love that could not stay. 

Farewell! farewell! My bark is on the billow 
That hastens onward to a foreign shore; 

I fain would rest upon a fevered pillow, 
And still my weary soul forevermore. 

Farewell! farewell! Another hand shall lead thee. 
Another heart has won the prize I sought; 

Why, Oh! why could you rebuke, deceive me, 
And leave me lonely with this killing thought? 

Farewell! farewell! Thus are we doomed to sever, 
And break the tie that bound us to the past; 

Yet in my heart, forever and forever, 
I'll keep your sainted image to the last. 



BY THE SEA. 

I am standing by the sea, 
And I listen to the roar 

Of the mighty ocean. 
As it breaks against the shore. 

I think of Now and Then, 
And long for evermore 

To taste of living wine 
On God's eternal shore. 

I see the breaker coming. 
With a petrel on its crest; 

I plunge into the billow, 
Wildly crying, ** Here is rest! 



POETIC PEBBLES. 195 



TOLL THE BELL. 



Toll the bell slowly, meekly, and lowly, 

There comes an inanimate clod, 
Sleeping forever beyond the dark river 

A mortal has gone to his God. 

Toll the bell faintly; echoes so saintly 

Are sounding o'er river and lea, 
Telling the living all need forgiving 

Before God and eternity. 

Toll the bell lightly, daily and nightly 

A spirit is watching for thee, 
One that has loved us, one that has proved us, 

Some fond soul who loved you and me. 

Toll the bell sadly, heart-broken, madly 

We kiss the cold lips of the dead. 
With hope, love, and tears, run back o'er the years 

To pluck out some cruel word said. 



FLOWERS OF HOPE. 

LDedicated to M. J. Murphy.] 

The sweetest flowers of golden hours 

Must fade and pass away; 
But love or truth, of age or youth, 

Shall never know decay. 

The hills are gray. Old Time won't stay, 

But keeps upon the wing; 
Its flight of years bring smiles and tears 

To peasant, prince, and king. 

Dear friends, depart; and leave the heart- 

A ruin old and lone — 
With nothing here, from year to year. 

Which it can call its own. 

Yet, o'er the gloom beyond the tomb, 

Where Hope can only see. 
There is a rest among the blessed, 

And joy for you and me. 



196 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



FORGETTING. 

The friends that I loved in December 
And cherished so fondly in May, 

Have long since forgot to remember, 
And vanished like dewdrops away. 

In sunshine and power 1 was toasted 
And feasted by courtiers so kind; 

And, Oh! how the parasites boasted 
Of the wonderful traits of my mind. 

But when the dark hour of my trouble 
Arose like a storm in the sky. 

The vipers began to play double. 

And forgot the bright glance of my eve ! 



THE IRISHMAN. 

[Dedicated to Pat Hoban.] 

As orator, poet, and soldier 
He stands in the front of the line; 

No mortal was ever more bolder 
To live on the classical wine. 

His heart is as big as the mountains, 
His soul sighs for beauty and grace; 

His mind drinks at all of the fountains 
Where knowledge and love run apace. 

His wit, like the dews of the morning, 
Enlivens the weight of an hour; 

His proud heart has nothing but scorning 
For tyrants who pivot on power. 

For freedom he'll fight on forever. 
And never surrender to wrong; 

His love for the truth you can't sever; 
His home is a sigh and a song. 

Then hurrah for old Erin, the Emerald, 
That shines as the gem of the sea. 

And her brave sons who never surrender 
To vultures of king's tyranny. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 197 



THE SUNBEAM. 



A beautiful beam came into my cell, 

Fresh from the eye of Jehovah, to tell 

That bolts and bars cannot keep out the light 

Of truth, and justice, of mercy and right; 

It checkered the flags through the iron door, 

And danced in the shadows that kissed the floor, 

And loitered about in a friendly way, 

Until beckoned back at the close of day; 

When out of the window, it flew on high 

And hastened back to its home in the sky. 

I followed the beautiful beam to rest. 

To a sea of light in the golden west; 

It dropped to sleep on the dark blue sea 

And left me the sweetest memory. 

I turned to my soul for calm relief, 

Balm to my wound, a check to my grief— 

When visions of glory shone from above 

Where the light is God, and God is love! 



MY BABY'S EYES. 

[To Florence.] 

My baby's eyes in melting blue 
Are beaming bright as morning dew, 
And from the skylight take a hue, 
Or like the starlight bright and true. 

My baby's eyes in liquid roll 
Enhance my world from pole to pole, 
And love sits smiling in that goal 
Forever speaking to my soul. 

My baby's eyes in other years 
May fill with many scalding tears, 
And yet through cruel taunts and jeers 
A mother's love will banish fears. 

My baby's eyes in blight or bloom. 
Those glorious orbs in grief or gloom. 
Shall be to me in death or doom, 
The dearest diamonds to the tomb. 



198 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

THE LEAVES ARE FALLING. 

[Dedicated to my daughter, Libbie.] 

The leaves are falling; I hear you calling 
From out the years that slumber in the past, 

Asleep or waking, my heart is breaking 

For one sweet love that thrills it to the last. 

The leaves are sailing, and I'm bewailing 
The lost affections of my vanished youth. 

When friends were nearer, and hearts were dearer, 
And life was in the heaven of their truth. 

The leaves are flying, the winds are sighing. 
And Nature in her garb of green and gray 

Makes many changes o'er hills and ranges — 
A bride of beauty in her autumn day. 

Along the hours, in golden showers 
The leaves are falling over hill and dale; 

Their ranks are broken — a voiceless token 
That we shall follow down the fading vale 
And perish like the leaves blown by the gale ! 



GOD IS NEAR. 
[Dedicated to Rev. David Wills, of Georgia.] 

God is near upon the ocean, 

God is near upon the land; 
He is All, both rest and motion— 

We are only grains of sand. 
Little mites upon life's billow, 

May-flies buzzing out the hour. 
Dreams upon a fevered pillow — 

Dewdrops on a withered flower; 
Only waiting for tomorrow — 

That has never come to man, 
Here we live in joy and sorrow, 

Chasing phantoms as we can, 
Chasing pleasure, chasing greatness, 

Over tangled walks and waves; 
But we learn the bitter lateness 



POETIC PEBBLES. 1^9 

Just before we find our graves. 
Hope is nigh with fairy fingers, 

Tracing sunbeams on the way; 
Magic memory ever lingers, 

Busy with the bygone day. 
Life and death are but the portals 

To a realm of endless rest; 
God is working through his mortals; 

All in some way shall be blessed! 



THE EXILE. 

In other lands beyond the sea, 
My thoughts will often turn to thee ; 
And gazing o'er the billows' crest 
My heart shall travel to the West, 
Where lies a home, the sweetest, best. 

Fair land of pine and oak and ash. 
Where sparkling streams forever dash, 
Mid mountain crags so grand and old 
Rock-ribbed with iron, silver, gold. 
And fertile fields of generous mould. 

The friends I knew in childhood years 
Are seen with love through smiles and tears 
And as my bounding bark departs — 
One look, one sigh, to tender hearts — 
How memory from my bosom starts ! 

How oft my eyes will turn in vain 

To see my native land again, 

And as the sail departs from view, 

ril peer across the ocean blue 

To catch one glimpse of love and yoa. 

But I am destined still to roam. 

Without a country or a home, 

A lonely exile bent with care. 

A barren waste, both bleak and bare — 

No friend to cheer me anywhere. 



200 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

[Dedicated to Hon. Amos Cummings, New York.] 

I gaze on my old ruined homestead today 
Through the tears of a wild, vanished youth; 

I see the broad porches gone down to decay 
Where my mother instilled every truth. 

The chimney has crumbled away in the blast, 

And the rafters have all tumbled down; 
The hearthstone brings back all the joys of the past 

As the clouds in the west darkly frown. 

The spring at the foot of the hill has gone dry, 

And the apple and plum trees have gone; 
I stand in the gloom as the winds deeply sigh — 

See the ghosts of my friends one by one. 

Here, my mother and father sleep side by side 

In a nook on the top of the hill; 
Where my heart was as light as the foam on the tide 

When I sauntered about the old mill. 

That stood on the banks of the creek, down the lane. 

Where it rumbled its musical flow; 
But alas! I shall never play there again 

As I played in the sweet long ago. 

The woodpecker drums o'er my head on the oak 

And the gray squirrel chatters his tune. 
But where are the schoolmates whose sport and whose joke 

Thrilled my heart in the play-spell at noon. 

Some are "gone o'er the ranges" to sleep in the vale; 

Like myself, some have wandered afar — 
Blown about like a leaf in a withering gale 

Or attuned like a broken guitar! 

By the last ray of sunset I sadly behold 

The old ruined home of my youth. 
Where the jessamine clambered in colors of gold, 

And the voices I heard spoke the truth. 

Farewell to the scenes and the friends that I knew 

In the morning of life, bright and fair — 
My heart shall forever commingle with you 

And my spirit shall always be there! 



POETIC PEBBLES. 20I 

THERE'S NO POCKET IN A SHROUD ! 

[On the death of a millionaire.] 
You must leave your many millions 

And the gay and festive crowd; 
Though you roll in royal billions, 

There's no pocket in a shroud. 

Whether pauper, prince, or peasant; 

Whether rich or poor or proud — 
Remember that there isn't 

Any pocket in a shroud. 

You'll have all this world of glory 

With a record long and loud. 
And a name in song and story, 

But no pocket in your shroud. 

So be gen'rous with your riches, 

Neither vain, nor cold, nor proud, 
And you'll gain the golden niches 

In a clime without a cloud ! 



I WALK ALONE. 

LDedicated to Walt Whitman.] 

I walk alone where morning beams are shining, 
And winds are blowing o'er the stormy sea ; 

I look aloft and see a silver lining 
That thrills my soul with thoughts of Deity. 

I walk alone where evening shadows lower. 
Peering through the crimson clouds of fate ; 

My heart beats out the lagging, weary hour, 
Repeating to my soul — too late, too late. 

I walk alone where mountain streams are leaping, 
And snow-capped summits reach unto the sky, 

And still my nightly, silent watch I'm keeping, 
Gazing into worlds beyond that never die. 

I walk alone the rugged road of life. 

Where human " may-flies " flutter, fly, and fall ; 
I battle still with everlasting strife — 

Ambition, glory, and the grave— that's all ! 



202 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

UNKNOWN. 

[Dedicated to Mack Lipscomb, Washington, D. C] 

I gazed on the babe at its mother's breast, 

And asked for the secret of life and rest; 

It turned with a smile that was sad and lone, 

And murmured in dreaming, "Unknown," "unknown." 

I challenged the youth so bold and so brave. 

To tell me the tale of the lonely grave; 

But he sung of pleasure in musical tone, 

And his echoing voice replied "Unknown," " unknown.** 

Then I questioned the gray-haired man of years, 
Whose face was furrowed with thoughts and tears; 
And he paused in his race to simply groan. 
The soul-chilling words: "Unknown" "unknown." 

I asked the lover, the poet, and sage — 
In every clime and in every age — 
To tell me the truth, and candidly own 
If after life it is all unknown. 

I soared like the lark to the boundless sky, 
Sighed in my soul for the how and the why; 
The angels were singing arid just had flown; 
I heard but the echo, " Unknown, " unknown." 

I read in the hills and saw in the rocks 

A lesson that told of the earthquake shocks; 

I gazed at the stars from a mountain cone. 

But they only answered — "Unknown," " unknown." 

Thus am I tortured by fear and by doubts, 

In tracing the way where so many routes 

Are ever in view, and quickly are flown, 

And all that I know is — " Unknown," " unknown." 

At last I determined to surely find 

All hope and all bliss in my mystic mind; 

But just as sweet peace came to soothe me alone. 

The wild witch of doubt shrieked: "Unknown," "unknown. 

The sun and the moon, the winds and the wave, 

May perish in time and sink to the grave; 

The temples of earth shall fall, stone by stone, 

And mortals still wail out — " Unknown," " unknown." 



POETIC PEBBLES. 2O3 

The millions of earth that battle today 
Are but a handful to those passed away; 
The future is countless — men from each zone 
Shall flourish and die in the far-off unknown. 

We come like the dewdrops and go like the mist, 
As frail as a leaf by autumn winds kissed; 
Fading away like the roses of June — 
Wishing and waiting to meet the unknown. 

Nature, Oh! Nature, thy God I adore; 
There's light in thy realm, I ask for no more; 
From the seed to the fruit all things are grown, 
Yet, while we know this, the cause is unknown. 

When matter and mind are perished and lost, 
And all that we see into chaos is tossed, 
From nothing to nothing we pass out alone, 
Like a flash or an echo — " Unknown," ** unknown." 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

When I am dead let no vain pomp display, 
A surface sorrow o'er my pulseless clay. 
But all the dear old friends I loved in life 
Can shed a tear, console my child and wife. 

When I am dead let strangers pass me by, 

Nor ask a reason for the how or why 

That brought my wandering life to praise or shame. 

Or marked me for the fading flowers of fame. 

When I am dead, the vile assassin tongue 
Will try and banish all the lies it flung, 
And make amends for all its cruel wrong 
In fulsome praise and eulogistic song. 

When I am dead, what matters to the crowd ? 
The world will rattle on as long and loud. 
And each one in the game of life will plod 
The field to glory and the way to God. 

When I am dead, some sage for self-renown 
May urn my ashes in his native town. 
And give, when I am cold, and lost, and dead, 
A marble slab, where once I needed bread. 



204 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



A FRIEND. 



A friend is one who knows your fault, 
And knowing dares to chide you ;', 

Who blisters wrong with Attic salt 
And still sticks close beside you. 

A friend is one who lifts you up 
When sin and sorrow hover, 

And casts aside the bitter cup , 
And takes you under cover. 

A frend is one whose words are true, 
Whose purse in trial or trouble 

Is ever open unto you ; 
Whose heart cannot play double. 

A friend is one who bends alone 
Above your nameless tomb, 

And keeps your memory all her own 
As flowers in full bloom. 



A FIRESIDE MEMORY. 

[Dedicated to Dominick I. Murphy, Washington, D. C.l 

She's gone, yet memory unconfined 
Has reared a temple in my heart. 

Where all her virtues are enshrined. 
That never from my soul depart. 

Her voice, like music low and sweet, 
Could soothe me in the deepest woe — 

How willing \ ere her flying feet 
To serve me in the long ago. 

Her face, like yonder bank of flowers. 
Shone brightly o'er me, near and far — 

Lit up my life in lonely hours — 
My truest friend, my polar star. 

No more those footsteps run to greet 
My lagging moments, night or day ; 

We never more on earth shall meet — 
My joys with her have passed away. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 205 

Her image hangs on yonder wall 

Still speaking of the olden time, 
When she to me was all in all 

And love was in its early prime. 

Now bending o'er the smouldering fire, 

I see the shadows come and go, 
While one by one the sparks expire, 

And flake by flake comes down the snow. 

But through the gloom I always see 

A ray of that dear vanished light, 
And memory fondly brings to me 

Her image ever pure and bright. 



AMONG THE HILLS. 

Among the hills where summer rills 
Come leaping o'er the grasses, 

I hear the glee from tree to tree 
And see the lads and lasses. 

The laughing noise of girls and boys 

Awaken youthful dreaming 
Of long ago, with joy and woe, 

And many bright eyes beaming. 

But now today my hair is gray. 
The wrinkles o'er me creeping ; 

My youth is past, and here at last 
I'm left to silent weeping. 

But memory clings and love still sings 

Among the hills of childhood, 
The tunes I knew when friends were true, 

And pleasure ruled the wildwood. 

Laugh on sweet youth, with love and truth 

Be happy without measure. 
While song and rhyme can kill old Time 

And youth remains a treasure. 



206 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

THE SUTLER. 

" I will a Sutler be that profits may accrue. — SHAKSf eare. 
[Dedicated to the Grand Army of the Republic] 

I sing the song of the sutler, 

Who fought in the battle of life, 
The song of the prize-package *' artist," 

Who never got into the strife ; 
Not the jubilant song of the soldier. 

Who never forgot to lay claim 
To the greenbacks that stuck in the " Jack Pot " 

At the end of a winter-night game. ' 
But the song of the beautiful sutler, 

Who traveled in sunshine and rain, 
For the sake of the almighty dollar 

And whatever else he could gain ; 
And his youth bore no flower on its branches, 

But his age was a bright, sunny day ; 
For the prize that he gloriously grasped at 

Was the cash that he carried away. 
And the work that he did for the Army 

In the rear of the soldiers was seen. 
Where he set up his crackers and herrings, 

And the smell of the festive sardine 
That he sold to the " boys " on a credit, 

Or the clamp of a paymaster's lease ; 
And six boxes he gave for five dollars, 

While the rest brought a dollar a piece. 
While the world at large sheds a tear 

To the hero that may be bereft, 
I drink to the Grand Army Sutler 

Who never was known to get left ! 
Who rushed to the front, when the camp-fires 

Lit up all the hills, without fear ; 
But at the first crack of the rifle 

He galloped away to the rear, 
With his pipes, his tobacco, and whiskey, ♦ 

And his barrels of sour lager beer; 
And he never let up on his running 

Till the Long Bridge appeared to his view, 



POETIC PEBBLES. 207 

Where he opened up shop in his wagon, 

And roped-in the gay " boys in blue." 
How he held to his faith unseduced, 

With the glint of the cash in his eye ; 
And for this great cause how he suffered ! 

For the cash, not the country, he'd die ! 
Then rear to the sutler a temple. 

Of granite and brass that will stay. 
Where the spirit of Shylock shall hover, 

And beam on the " blue " and the ** gray,'* 
Who once paid a tribute to genius, 

With a gall that no mortal could rule. 
And a smile like a lightning-rod peddler, 

And a cheek like the Grand Army Mule ! 



MY NATIVE LAND. 

[Dedicated to the memory of my father.] 

Farewell to the land of my birth and my childhood, 
Where the shamrock and hawthorn bloom in the vale, 

And the linnet and thrush sing sweet in the wildwood; 
Where perfume of roses is borne on the gale. 

Farewell to the hills and the streams where I wandered. 
To my dear mountain cot at the edge of the glen, 

Where often, in spring-time, I played and I pondered, 
But ne'er shall I witness those loved scenes again. 

Farewell to the church and the school-house of learning, 
To the lads and the lasses that frolicked in glee; 

My heart is near breaking while footsteps are turning 
To a land full of freedom far over the sea. 

Farewell to the grave of my father and mother; 

The daisy and violet bloom o'er their head; 
The turf is still fresh on the breast of another— 

The dearest and sweetest of those with the dead. 

Farewell, we must part, and the links of love sever, 
Yet tears of remembrance for thee shall renew 

The friendship I'll cherish forever and ever 
Wherever I wander, dear Erin, for you! 



208 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

THE SHAMROCK. 

[Dedicated to Dr. P. S. O'Reilley, St. Louis, Mo.] 

There's a green little plant that grows over the se 
That I love, although far, far away, 

And its petals are always the dearest to me, 
For they bloom in my heart night and day. 

The rose and the lily are fine to behold, 
With the perfume distilled from their cells. 

But more precious to me than diamonds or gold 
Is the tale that the green shamrock tells. 

It tells of a faith that has never been crushed, 

And a people you cannot subdue. 
Of echoes of freedom that never are hushed — 

Like the roar of the ocean we view. 

It whispers a song of sweet dreams that are fled, 
Of bright hopes that have vanished away — 

Of heroes of freedom who fought and who bled. 
Of bards with their musical lay. 

Though the harp of the bard may be broken, 
And the voice of the singer be still, 

The green shamrock is ever our token — 
For it blooms over valley and hill. 

Where the thrush and the blackbird and linnet 
Sing their notes to the rivers that run, 

And the lark can be seen every minute, 
As he circles around to the sun. 



LET ME REST. 

Let me rest where sunlight lingers, 
'Neath the waving willow shade, 

Where the morn with dewy fingers 
Sprinkles diamonds o'er the glade. 

Where the little birds are singing 
O'er the flowers above my tomb, 

And the matin bells are ringing 
Mortals to celestial bloom ! 



POETIC PEBBLES. 209 

VANITY. 

[Dedicated to Henry T. Stanton, Kentucky.] 

Sweet thoughts that we cannot repeat, 

And songs that we never can sing 
Arise in the brain but to meet 

And speed like a bird on the wing. 

A light or a flash on the wave, 

Is the life that we live today — 
A nremory gone to the grave, 

Or the laugh of a child at play. 

A glance at this world of beauty, 

A bubble that floats on the sea; 
To hope and to die for duty, 

And sink to eternity. 



KISSING O'ER THE BARS. 

[A Song. Dedicated to " Gypsy Kroh."] 

I had a little sweetheart, her name was Jennie Lee, 
We met down by the brooklet, and by the waters free. 
We clasped and kissed each other, beneath the rising stars— 
Our hearts kept tune together while kissing o'er the bars. 

Although the years have left me and I am old and gray, 
I can't forget the gloaming that long since passed away; 
Yet while my life is wasting and marked by many scars, 
Fm standing by the brooklet and kissing o'er the bars ! 

Often in the evening when I gaze across the sea, 

My soul is filled with rapture for home and Jennie Lee, 

And though a lonely exile exposed to jolts and jars, 

I'm kissing, fondly kissing, my sweet Jennie o'er the bars ! 

She left me in the morning when life was young and true; 
Her spirit shines upon me from yonder bounding blue, 
And though the world rebukes me with many winds and wars, 
My heart and soul feel rapture while kissing o'er the bars ! 



2IO JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

THE THISTLE. 
[Dedicated to Thomas Somerville, Sr., Washington, D. C.| 

Let England boast of ivy green, 
' Of beef and gold and gristle; 
But still my soul shall always lean 
To Scotland and its thistle. 

Old Ireland may its shamrock praise, 
Romantic airs still whistle; 

Yet give me back my childhood days- 
Dear Scotland and its thistle. 

Gay France may boast the lily white, 
Its slopes with vines may bristle. 

Yet all its joys both day and night 
Can't vie with Scotland's thistle. 

Columbia, my adopted land. 

Sweet liberty, thy story; 
To thee I freely give my hand. 

My heart for Scotland's glory. 

The land of Wallace, Bruce, and Burns, 
Refreshed by Highland misle, 

To thee my throbbing heart still turns, 
My Scotland and its thistle. 

'Tis there the bonny Doon and Ayr 

Reflect the evening shadow, 
With thistles growing everywhere 

'Mid mountain, marsh, and meadow. 



JUST SO. 

Our vices are printed in " caps," 
Our virtues in small '* nonpareil;" 

And all of our daily mishaps 
The neighbors are ready to tell. 

If you stumble, beware of the crowd- 
It's callous, and heartless, and cold; 

'Twill praise you today long and loud; 
Tomorrow, 'twill damn brave and bold! 



POETIC PEBBLES. 211 

THE VOICE OF THE CLOCK. 

[Dedicated to Derwin De Forest, of New York.J 

Tick, tick, the moments fly. 
Tick, tick, we live and die. 
Tick, tick, goes the hour, 
Tick, tick, fades the flower. 

Tick, tick, heartbeats go. 
Tick, tick, weal or woe. 
Tick, tick, soon are fled. 
Tick, tick, lost and dead. 

Tick, tick, days and years. 
Tick, tick, smiles and tears. 
Tick, tick, wind and wave. 
Tick, tick, grief, the grave. 



THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 

The Head and the Heart had a quarrel one day, 
As to which was at fault for the other; 

The Head with great arrogance always would say 
That the Heart was a wild, reckless brother. 

And the Heart would not listen to reason; 

Yet it worked brave and strong all the hours, 
While the Head tossed about in high treason 

As it talked on the nature of flowers. 

And the heart with its warm pulsation 

Made many a grievous mistake, 
But 'twas always on side of salvation 

For the poor fallen woman, or Rake. 

The Head was a dastard old miser. 

Who doubted the whole of mankind. 
And told the poor heart to be wiser 
^And leave its pulsations for mind. 

But the brave Heart replied in its glory, 
I would rather be fooled now and then 

Than list to your cold, cynic story 
And doubt all my good fellow-men. 



212 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

The Head was a ready-cash banker, 
While the Heart was a Prodigal Son, 

And though his fair form grew lanker. 
His truth and his love weighed a ton. 

If you met him in anguish or sorrow, 

In the walks of Vanity Fair, 
A shilling or pound you could borrow, 

And his smile could be found everywhere. 

But the selfish old Head turned coldly, 

And vaunted its pelf and its pride, 
As he passed by his fellows so boldly. 

Where they starved, and they bled, and they died. 

But old age struck this top-heavy creature, 

And left him alone with his tears; 
Not a friend to gaze on his feature 

As he sank to his grave without tears. 

Yet the noble old Heart with its failing. 
Had the prayers of the poor and the just, 

And a funeral train all bewailing. 
When it passed to the sad, silent dust. 



TRUTH AND LOVE. 

The works of man shall crumble and decay, 
His boast in brass and bronze shall pass away; 
But o'er the rolling years of tide and time 
The truth shall flourish in immortal prime. 

Temples and towers shall crumble into dust, 
Silver and gold shall perish with the rust — 
And all things that we see below, above. 
Shall vanish from the earth but lasting love. 

The splendid wrecks of pyramids and thrones 
Can only mark the spot where human bones 
Still moulder into dust without a name — 
The vain memorials of presumptive fame! 

But truth, and love, and hope, and glorious song 
Shall triumph over ages, and o'er wrong. 
And cheer the drooping spirit through the night 
When vice and vengeance battle with the right. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 213 

THIRTY YEARS. 

[A memory of Mount Sterling, Ky.] 

Thirty years are gone tomorrow 

Since these streams and hills I knew; 

Thirty years of joy and sorrow 

Brings me back, dear hills, to you. 

Many friends I loved are sleeping 

On the crest of yonder hill; 
'Neath the willows gently weeping, 

Near the sound of Perry's mill. 

Beaux and beauties that I cherished 

Left me in their early bloom, 
Yet their memory never perished 

With the blight that blurs the tomb. 

Raven locks no more are shining; , 

Lost and gone the flowers of May; 
Yet how vain is all repining 

In my crown of silver gray. 

Vanished voices in the twilight 

Float above the hill and plain; 
Call me fondly to the skylight, 

Thrill my heart with love again. 

THE RISING SUN. 

Shine out, thou glorious sun, upon a sleeping world 

And thrill the soul with fires from above- 
Where thunderbolts are forged and flashed and hurled 

By one Almighty hand— source of light and love. 

Arise, and stride across the ocean billow, 

And light thy pathway o'er the vales and hills. 

Go, shine where beauty dreams upon her pillar 
And sparkles in the leaping mountain rills. 

Let stars and moons and planets in their sweeping 

Pale their light before the splendid sway, 
While I my weary matin watch am keeping 

To catch the glory of the God of day. 



214 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



THE BOAST OF BACCHUS. 

[Dedicated to the memories of "Bobby" Bums, Oliver Goldsmith, and 
Edgar Allen Poe.] 

I reign over land, I reign over sea, 

The proudest of earth I bring to my knee 

As weak as a child in the midnight of care; 

The prince and the peasant I strip bleak and bare. 

A taste of my blood sends a thrill to the heart. 
And speeds through the soul like a poisonous dart; 
While I leave it a wreck of trouble and pain 
That never on earth can be perfect again. 

The youth in his bloom and the man in his might 
I capture by day and I conquer by night; 
The maid and the matron respond to my call, 
I rule like a tyrant and ride over all. 

In the gilded saloon and glittering crowd 
I deaden the senses and humble the proud, 
And tear from the noble, the good, and the great 
The love and devotion of home, church, and state. 

I blast all the honor that manhood holds dear, 
I smile with delight at the sight of a tear. 
And laugh in the revel and rout of a night; 
My mission on earth is to blur and to blight. 

I ruin the homes of the high and the low, 
I blast every hope of the friend and the foe; 
The world I sear with my blistering breath. 
And millions I lead to the portals of death. 

In the parlor and dance-house I sparkle and roar 
Like billows that break on a wild, rocky shore; 
I crush every virtue, destroy every truth 
That blossoms in beauty or blushes in youth. 

My power is mighty for sin and despair; 
I crouch, like a lion that waits in his lair. 
To mangle the life of the pure and the brave. 
And drag them in sorrow to shame and the gravel 



POETIC PEBBLES. 215 



THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. 

[Dedicated to the American soldier.] 

Bands were playing, horses neighing, 

Soldiers straying, mules were braying; 

Banners flying, women crying. 

Hearts were sighing, many dying; 

Onward, backward, all uproarious, 

The ** Gray " victorious, the " Blue " was glorious. 

The field was won, the field was lost, 

Like ocean billows, torn and tossed; 

And on the bloody beach of war 

Waves of dead, a giant scar; 

And mangled bodies torn and pale, 

Like forests in a withering gale. 

Up the hill and down the vale, 

Advance, retreat, but never fail; 

Fix bayonets, forward, guide right! 

A shout, a yell, God! what a sight. 

At them again through smoke and fire; 

Fight and fall, but ne'er retire. 

Once more to the breach, steady, strike — 

Blood, broken bones, who saw the like 

Never forgets through the long years 

That call up our smiles and our tears. 

Capture cannon, capture men. 

Crash, smash, at them again. 

Hark to the yell of Cleburne's men, 

They rush like demons through the glen, 

Driving the " Blue " toward the river, 

And many are lost forever; 

Sherman shouts " Halt! right about, charge!' 

Then down through the brush and the gorge 

The " Gray " in turn are flying. 

Lord! how the soldiers are dying. 

McClernand, McCook stand at bay, 

While Wallace is lost on the way 

To the field, where Prentiss surrenders 



2l6 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

To the South and its brave defenders. 
Cheatham, Withers, Gibson, and Bragg 
Stand out like a wild, rocky crag 
And beat back the bold invaders; 
At last they are crushed by the raiders. 
Then Crittenden, Hurlbut, and Wood 
With many brave heroes withstood — 
Charge after charge, through the rain 
Of bullets that whizzed o'er the plain. 
Webster shouts, " Park and unlimber!" 
Shot and shell right through the timber- 
Cannons that growl like December, 
Sounds that we long shall remember. 
Shriek like the roar from a burning hell! 
Sending the foe to the rear pell-mell! 
Danger and death so fierce and hard 
To the halting troops of Beauregard! 
Sunday's sun has gone at last, 
Rushing rains are falling fast 
On the faces cold as lead, 
On the dying and the dead. 
Brave Sidney Johnston led the " Gray," 
But Fate cut off his life that day, 
And Beauregard could not repel 
The Union fire— a blast from hell, 
Where cannon thundered o'er the glen 
And shattered horses, boys, and men. 
Then Monday's sun arose in a gloom 
And spread its clouds above this tomb, 
Where Grant and Buell joined to smash 
The stubborn Gray with one dread crash. 
But still the Gray declined to yield. 
And fought like tigers on the field- 
Till wave on wave '* the boys in blue " 
Rolled o'er these Southern hearts so true- 
While Sherman over swamp and bridge 
Dashed on the gallant Breckinridge! 
The day was won, the day was lost, 
And twenty thousand told the cost, 
Where brothers bled and brothers died— 
A ruin with its crimson tide, 
That flowed for you and flowed for me 



POETIC PEBBLES. 217 

On the torn banks of the Tennessee! 
The sun goes down, the stars are set, 
That bloody field we can't forget 
While valor holds a deathless sway 
And honor crowns the " Blue " and ** Gray." 
It may be that the winking ** stars " 
Contain the men who loved the " bars " — 
And that those gallant, noble types 
Join hands with those who loved the stripes. 
But ** stars " and " bars " and " red " and ** blue ** 
And '* stripes " and " stars " wave over you ; 
Our Nation fills our fame today — 
The " red " is " Blue " and the " blue " is " Gray '* ! 
A thousand years of glory 

Shall immortalize our fame — 
With a tale in song and story 

To keep green the hallowed name 
Of the victor and the vanquished 

On the land and on the sea, 
A band of noble brothers 

Led by gallant Grant and Lee. 
And the tears of beaming beauty 

Shall freshen every flower — 
In the May-time of our duty, 

Through the sunlit, fleeting hour. 
Then we'll strew the rarest roses 
O'er the graves we bless today. 
And we'll pluck the purest posies 

To enwreath the " Blue " and " Gray." 
And down the circling ages, 
From the father to the son. 
We'll tell on golden pages 

How the field was lost and won ; 
And how a band of brothers 

Fought each other hard and true 
To bind the Union arches 

O'er the *' Gray " and o'er the " Blue," 
And reared a lasting temple 
So complete in every plan, 
To justice, truth, and mercy 
And the liberty of man ! 



2l8 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

SUBLIMITY. 

[Dedicated to Eugene Field.] 

I hear in the voice of the thunder 

The glory and greatness of God; 
I see in the flash of the hghtning 

The sweep of my glittering rod. 

I feel in the rush of the rain ^ 

The flow of His melting tears, , 

And hear in the midnight winds 
The music of all the spheres. 

I see in the limitless ocean 

The swell of His heaving breast, 
And the hour is near when I shall 

Sink to His bosom of infinite rest. 

CLEOPATRA'S REPLY. 

[Dedicated to Gen. William Haynes Lytle, author of "I'm Dying, Egfypt, Dying.") 

I am dying, Antony, dying. 
Yet I long for one embrace 
To entwine my arms around you. 
And still greet you face to face; 
Ere I cross the stygian river 
Testing highest heaven or hell, 
I am pining for thy presence — 
Come, and kiss a fond farewell. 

I am dying, Antony, dying. 

While the conquering hosts of Rome 

Batter down m}^ palace portals 

And despoil my royal home; 

Like great Caesar's dashing legions 

Rule the land and rule the sea, 

I defy his sharpest torture — 

You and Love rule only me. 

I am dying, Antony, dying. 
Yet, my soul-lit love forbids 
To quench great furnace fires 



POETIC PEBBLES. ' 219 

Burning 'neath the pyramids 
Of passion's deep foundation, 
Laid by nature and her laws, 
That abide by blood and impulse 
From some great eternal cause. 

I am dying, Antony, dying, 
Yet, the " splendors of my smile " 
Shall light thy pathway onward 
To some grand celestial Nile, 
Where among bright heavenly bowers 
We shall clasp with magic might, 
Crowned with everlasting flowers 
Blooming always, day and night. 

Come, my lion-hearted hero 
To the jungles of my heart. 
Feed upon the upland hillocks, 
Never more to pine or part; 
Wander grandly to the valley 
Where the springs of life abound. 
Cool the ardor of thy passion 
In dark grottoes under ground. 



GOLDEN HAIR. 

[Dedicated to Emily Thornton Charles.] 

Only a lock of golden hair 

That I gaze on with ceaseless pain, 
Worn by an image pure and fair, 

That never shall bless me again. 

She went like the mist of morning 
To shine with the stars above, 

A beautiful, chaste adorning 
In a realm of endless love. 

Yet often when evening twilight 
Encircles my heart with gloom 

I hear her voice from the starlight 
That sparkles within my room. 

And I see through the mystic moonbeams, 

Her form so rare and fair, 
A radiant light from Heaven so bright. 

With tresses of golden hair. 



220 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



LAURA. 



Where the purple hills lie sleeping, 

Beneath the autumn shade, 
And the trees are sadly weeping 

Their tribute o'er the gl-ade; 
There I laid my lovely Laura 

In days so long ago, 
When my heart was full of sorrow 

As the mountains full of snow. 

I've tried oft to forget her 
- In the whirl of busy life. 
But the more do I regret her 

In my round of daily strife; 
And when evening shadows lower 

O'er the purple hills afar, 
I recall the lonely hour 

When I lost my polar star. 

Yet, the day is surely coming 

When we'll clasp with magic might, 
Where the angel choirs are humming — 

In the bright celestial light — 
Where the waters ever sparkle 

On that bright, eternal shore, 
And our hearts will never darkle, 

But shall love for evermore. 



MY SOUL AND SELF. 

[Dedicated to Col. De Witt C. Sprague.] 

My soul and self walked hand in hand 

Discoursing of the time to be, 
When we should view the " Promised Land ** 

And sink into eternity. 

The Star of Hope was in my sky. 
And Faith reigned monarch of the hour, 

While Love and Truth were always nigh 
To cheer me in their rosy bower. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 221 

I asked my sighing soul to tell 

The secret that enwraps the tomb, 
Or if there was a burning hell 

To torture in eternal gloom. 

I heard an echo faint and low, 
Come sounding o'er the wreck of years — 

A voice all tremulous with woe 
That left me to my silent tears. 

Dread silence brooded o'er my heart 

And brought a chaos of despair; 
My soul and self then tore apart, 

With nothing here and nothing there ! 

"I HAVE SINNED AND I HAVE SUFFERED." 
[Last words of John Howard Payne, author of " Home, Sweet Home.] 
I have sinned and I have suffered, 

Yet the world will never know 
How I tried to do my duty 
In the long, the long ago. 

I have sinned and I have suffered. 

Human nature is so weak — 
Yet my tongue cannot be tempted 

To disclose, betray, or speak. 

I have sinned and I have suffered; 

Who has not through blood and bone? 
If there be a mortal living. 

Let him bravely cast the stone. 

I have sinned and I have suffered, 

Just the same as other men. 
But my heart cannot be conquered, 

Nor the soul that burns within. 

I have sinned and I have suffered; 

Mournful memories come to me; 
Yet beyond the clouds of sorrow 

Rifts of sunshine I can see. 

I have sinned and I have suffered. 

He can sink and He can save 
All the human hearts that wander 

To the cold and silent sfrave. 



222 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



THE OLD YEAR. 

[Dedicated to Anonymous.] 

Farewell, old year, we soon must sigh and sever; 

Another moment and you're lost to sight; 
Yet in my heart I'll keep your form forever; 

And now, old friend, I bid you sweet good-night. 

You've left some scars upon my aching heart, 
And robbed me of a dear and valued friend. 

Sweet Love, who promised never more to part, 
Has passed away and come unto an end. 

But even 'mong the joys you rudely shattered 
There shine some jewels that you can't destroy, 

While memory still remains unbattered 
And heavenly hope is there without alloy. 

Your keen-edged scythe has cut down many a beauty, 
O'er land and sea wherever you have trod, 

Yet if their hands and hearts stuck close to duty 
I know they've gone to glory and their God. 

And still I know the new year holds some pleasure 
For those who work and love their fellow-men, 

While summer fields will yield their golden treasure 
When sunny skies shall shine for us again. 

So fare thee well, my dear old wrinkled hero; 

The midnight clock rings out your funeral knell, 
And soon you'll be as dead as tyrant Nero, 

But once again I sound a sweet farewell. 



MORNING AND EVENING. 

[Dedicated to Col. Will L. Visscher.] 

In the morning of life I was filled with ambition 
To roam o'er the world and see sights afar; 

But somehow in age I am prone to contrition 
At missing the splendors I saw in my star. 

Many friends came around me in moments of pleasure 
Who drank at my banquet and laughed at my wit; 

But when I had lost all my health and my treasure 
They left me alone in my sorrow to sit. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 223 

The voice of the crowd, as it rung in my praises, 

Awakened a joy I imagined would last; 
But. alas! my ambition lies under the daisies, 

And the wrecks of my glory are strewn in the past. 

No more shall I sail on the bright, bounding billow, 
Where youth in its beauty rode high on the wave, 

For soon shall I sleep 'neath the turf and the willow 
And go to the millions that rest in the grave. 

This tress of brown hair that I keep in my sorrow 
And the withered remains of a beautiful rose 

Shall shine o'er the ashes of hope every morrow. 
And bring to my lone heart sweet peace and repose. 

At the shrine of a memory I loved in my childhood 
I kneel and I pray in the midnight of care, 

And flit back again to the flowers in the wildwood, 
While soaring in silence o'er grief and dispair. 

Ah! who has not left still some sweet consolation 
To soften the pangs and the thorns of regret, 

When every wild fancy and dark devastation 
In vain bids us banish the past and forget ? 



A MEMORY. 

fDedicated to DeLancy Gill.] 

Adown the vanished years where mem'ry lingers 
There comes to me a picture from the past. 

And round her brow I see fond fairy fingers 
Entwining rarest roses to the last. 

Her laughing voice could banish every sorrow; 

Her sunny smile was all the world to me — 
Yet vainly from the past I try to borrow 

Her presence from that dark eternity. 

It must be that beyond the stars now shining 
She waits and watches for my coming call; 

For oft in dreams my weary head reclining, 
Upon her bosom finds its sweet enthrall. 



224 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



THE OCEAN GRAVE. 

Let me rest in the boundless ocean, 
Where the storm-king rules the wave, 

Where waters are ever in motion 
Above a limitless grave. 

Let me rest where the roaring billow 
Resounds o'er the waters wide, 

A dirge o'er my coral pillow 
A song for my mermaid bride. 

Let me rest where the evening twilight 

Mellows the parting day. 
Where the sea-birds flit in the moonlight 

Through breakers of blue and gray. 

Let me sink where the sands are shining 
On the surf of a lonely shore, 

Where the clouds have a silver lining 
And there's rest for evermore. 



A DOLLAR OR TWO. 

[Dedicated to the Washington Lodge of Elks.l 

With circumspect steps as we pick our way thro' 
This intricate world, as all prudent folks do, 
May we still on our journey be able to view 
The benevolent face of a dollar or two. 
For an excellent thing is a dollar or two ; 
No friend is so true as a dollar or two. 

In country or town, as we pass up and down, 
We are cock of the walk with a dollar or two. 

Do you wish to escape from the bachelor crew 
And a charming young innocent female to woo 
You must always be ready the handsome to do 
Although it may cost you a dollar or two. 
For love tips his darts with a dollar or two ; 
Young affections are gained by a dollar or two ; 

And beyond all dispute the best card of your suit 
Is the eloquent chink of a dollar or two. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 225 

Do you wish to have friends who your bidding will do, 
And help you your means to get speedily through, 
You'll find them remarkably faithfully true 
By the magical power of a dollar or two. 
For friendship's secured by a dollar or two ; 
Popularity's gained by a dollar or two. 

And you'll n'er want a friend till you've no more to lend 
And yourself need to borrow a dollar or two. 

*Do you wish in the courts of the country to sue 
For the right or estate that's another man's due, 
Your lawyer will surely remember his cue 
When his palm you have crossed with a dollar or two. 
For a lawyer's convinced with a dollar or two, 
And a jury set right with a dollar or two. 

And though justice is blind, yet a way you can find 
To open his eyes with a dollar or two. 

If a claim that is proved to be honestly due, 
Department or Congress you'd quickly put through, 
And the chance for its payment begins to look blue, 
You can help it along with a dollar or two. 
For votes are secured by a dollar or two. 
And influence bought by a dollar or two ; 

And he'll come to grief who depends for relief 
Upon justice not braced with a dollar or two. 

Do you wish that the press should the decent thing do 
And give your reception a gushing review, 
Describing the dresses by stuff, style, and hue, 
On the quiet, hand Jenkins a dollar or two. 
For the pen sells its praise for a dollar or two. 
And flings its abuse for a dollar or two. 

And you'll find that it's easy to manage the crew 
When you put up the shape of a dollar or two. 

Do you wish your existence with faith to imbue, 
And so become one of the sanctified few ; 
Who enjoy a good name and a well-cushioned pew. 
You must really come down with a dollar or two. 
For the gospel is preached for a dollar or two ; 
Salvation is reached for a dollar or two ; 

Sins are pardoned sometimes, but the worst of all crimes 
Is to find yourself short of a dollar or two. 

♦Anonymous. 



226 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Do you wish to get into a game with the crew 

Who sport on the "green" with the "red," "white," and "blue." 

In a small game of draw where your chances are few. 

You must back up your talk with a dollar or two. 

For the " dealer " is " fly " with a dollar or two. 

And the " banker " is "flush " with a dollar or two ; 

And whate'er you say, they won't let you play 
Unless you come down with a dollar or two. 

Should you " hanker " for Wall street as Gentile or Jew, 
Where the "bulls" and "bears" wait for "gudgeons" like you, 
Your pile they will measure and take into view, 
And scoop with a smile your last dollar or two. 
For the " bull " is rampant for a dollar or two. 
And the " bear " ever growls for a dollar or two ; 

Yet, I'll say on my oath that the broker rules both 
And seldom gets left on his dollar or two. 

Do you want a snug place where there's little to do, 
Civil service evade and its rules to break through, 
A land bill to pass or a patent renew — 
You can fix the thing up with a dollar or two ; 
For Commissions can see through a dollar or two ; 
Even Congressmen wink at a dollar or two. 

And you need not be slow to convince friend or foe 
Of the virtue contained in a dollar or two ! 



MAN. 



I met him yesterday in lusty health. 

Surrounded with the strength of pomp and power, 
But all the train that waited on his wealth 

Could not insure him life one single hour. 

Today I saw him coffined and confined 
Within a narrow cell beneath the sod, 

With all his earthly prospects there resigned. 
Dependent on the mercy of his God. 

Tomorrow's sun shall set upon his fame, 

And leave no trace of where he lived or died, 

While even the record of his wealth and name 
Shall vanish with his power and his pride! 



POETIC PEBBLES. 227 

LORD BYRON. 

[Dedicated to James Whitcorab Riley, the Hoosier Poet.] 

Immortal bard ! thy glorious, royal thought 

Sprung from thy brain, Minerva-like and caught 

The echoes of the fleeting, rolling years 

That thrill the music of the sounding spheres. 

Proud, independent, and still a stoic, 

Always grand, peculiar, and heroic — 

Who looked upon the hypocrites of earth 

As crawling worms, unworthy of a birth. 

Who only left their slime upon their day. 

Were unremembered when they passed away. 

Small creatures who are fitted for poor pelf 

Who live and die in concentrated self! 

But thou, an eagle from some Alpine peak 

Bathing its plumage in the cloud-capped foam. 

Wandering o'er this world, to vainly seek 

For truth and love, for honest heart and home. 

Beneath Italian skies you sought for peace. 

And steered your bounding bark round isles of Greece, 

Along the shores of Oriental lands. 

Where billows break upon their golden sands. 

And o'er the desert wild you loved to roam, 

But never found on earth a rest or home. 

Giaour, the Venitian, made Hassan bleed 

And cleft his head upon the prancing steed, 

All for the love he bore sweet Lelia dead — 

Where ocean billows broke above her head. 

'Tis sweet to be revenged on dastard man 

And kill a hated tyrant when you can. 

Who knows no law within, below, above — 

Dark, brutal passion only felt for love ! 

Now, see the Giaour in his death-bed trance 

Clasp lovely Lelia with his parting glance. 

Confessed his crimes, defiant of his course 

And died without a pang or feeling of remorse ; 

A lone and broken wreck upon the shore 

A brave and royal spirit evermore. 

One who could face the shades of death so well, 

Defying all the powers of earth and hell. 



228 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

The bride of Abydos you brightly paint 

In colors titat Old Time can never taint ; 

Her love as constant as the polar star 

That shines o'er Arctic night so fair and far, 

And for the youthful Selim she defied 

A parent's terror and the world beside. 

Who pledged her happiness, her love in strife, 

A shining rainbow in the storms of life. 

Who, when her lover, forced to die and part, 

Could rend her soul, one sigh, a broken heart! 

Zaleika ; from thy Cyprus mount on high 

Above the billow, near Hellenic sky. 

The bulbul and the nightingale doth sing 

A requiem as their mighty offering 

To one who loved not wisely, 'but too well, 

Thou paragon of beauty, fare thee well. 

Within the cell of Tasso we may find 

The wreck and ruin of a brilliant mind. 

Who loved beyond his rank and wand'ring state 

Leonora, the princess and ingrate. 

Who, like Alphonso, the mean tyrant duke. 

Could calmly look on wrong and not rebuke. 

Yet all the glories of the house of Este 

Have long since vanished like a fearful pest. 

While Tasso and his lovelit lines shall shine 

Along the rolling years, supreme, divine ! 

Byron, 'lone, proud, and friendless everywhere 

Except when sailing with thine own Corsair, 

Conrad, the pirate, and his queenly care. 

The lovelit homicide, the wild Gulnare ! 

Yet, in the tower with sweet Medora dead 

You lay upon her breast your aching head. 

And from those wild eyes tears of truth o'erflow 

The sparkling messenger of nameless woe. 

But, quickly; all these signs of grief depart, 

** In helpless, hopeless, brokenness of heart! '* 

Childe Harold, thou licentious Don Juan, 

Yet not myself in all that thou dost plan, 

"To point a moral and adorn a tale," 

For secret scoundrels, hypocrites so frail 

Who know themselves as villians, dastard liars, 

Dreading man's detection, perdition fires. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 229 

Who only prate and preach and never feel 
The glorious impulse of a grand ideal ! 
And I have searched the quarry of thy thought 
For marbles rare, uncovered and unbought, 
And delved into thy mind, so sad and lone 
To find in depths the prisoner of Chillon, 
Who dungeoned, for sweet liberty and truth, 
The tyrant's portion — for heroic youth. 
That would not yield till all his kindred slept 
Beneath the prison stones where he hath wept 
To hear his brothers in their clanking chains 
Die with moaning, groans, and patient pains. 
Homer, Shakspeare, to thee alone compare, 
Godlike triumvirate, grand, rich, and rare. 
Shall shine through all the ages and all time, 
The life of virtue and the death of crime ! 
And", oh! sweet Bard, where'er Augusta lies 
And faithful friendship turns to thee her eyes. 
There, from the earth the tribute of our tears 
Shall melt like dewdrops in the coming years. 
And o'er your hallowed dust we'll send a sigh 
For one immortal soul that cannot die ! 



A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. 

[To the memory of Thos. J. Luttrell.] 

A manly man has passed away, 
He rests beneath the silent sod. 

He carried sunshine in his day. 
And gave his heart and soul to God. 

In war and peace he was so brave. 
Kept duty as his guide and chart. 

Although his body fills the grave. 
His memory lingers in the heart. 

Peace to his ashes, rest his soul; 

No more his smiling face we'll see; 
He's reached at last the final goal, 

And shines within eternity. 



230 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



DON'T ! 



Don't quarrel with what you can't help, 

For this life is not very long; 
Don't listen to every whelp 

That barks at your heels, right or wrong. 

Don't worry when friends shall betray, 
They've done it since Judas began; 

Hold truth in the night or the day, 
And then, you will feel like a man! 

Don't look for perfection below, 

For all that is mortal must sin, 
And each one is subject to woe, 

No matter how pure he's within. 

Don't fear to go under the sod; 

To die is no more than be born, 
Have trust in yourself and your God 

And you'll meet in some heavenly morn I 



TRIUMPHANT. 

[Dedicated to Col. D. B. Henderson, Dubuque, lowa.l 

Though conquered and bleeding and dying. 
My spirit soars high o'er the gale, 

And round me sweet voices are sighing 
A dirge for the noble who fail. 

Long lines of the conquered are coming 

To waft me away to the skies. 
And echoes are peacefully humming 

A song for the hero who dies — 

For the rights he has fervently cherished 

Along the dark vale of despair. 
And for his own truth he has perished 

Like dewdrops that melt into air. 

No marble may mark his cold ashes, 
No song lend a charm to his name; 

The lightning of war only flashes 
The death moan that murmurs his fame. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 23I 

The grass grows as green o'er the conquered 

As where the victorious lie; 
They fell with a yell for a watchword 

That taught their proud manhood to die. 

When God comes to judge all His creatures 

Who toddle through life's little day, 
I know he will mark his own features 

In the mortal that falls by the way. 

And when victory garlands her heroes 

Who perish in naked detail, 
She will not crown the long line of Neros, 

But the truthful who struggle and fail ! 



THE JEW. 

[Dedicated to the fair Hebrew ladies.] 

The wild ivy vine of old Palestine 

Creeps over its temple and towers 
And leaves but a trace of the historic race 

That once filled its beautiful bowers. 

Yet age after age on every page 

Of the record of love and of life, 
The Hebrew appears to bloom o'er the years 

And soars over sorrow and strife. 

Though crushed and reviled, defeated, despoiled. 

The seed of the martyrs abound, 
And all o'er the earth where mortals have birth 

The Jew and the Jewess are found. 

In science and art they each take a part, 

And labor for liberty, too ; 
The tyrant they hate in church or in state, 

And freedom they always pursue. 

Success to the Jew, the wandering Hebrew, 

Who never was known to despair ; 
In bondage or chains, in losses or pains, 

His face can be seen everywhere. 



232 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

WHEN LOVE IS DEAD. 

[Dedicated to the memoiyof Frank Schwartz.] 

When love is dead, with all the hopes we cherished, 
What matters every scene of fleeting life ? 

Far better to be with the loved ones perished 
Than linger longer through this warring strife. 

When love is dead the world is all a blank, 
From rise of sun to evening's golden glow; 

Nor wealth nor power, nor all the joys of rank 
Caai ease the heart for love lost long ago. 

There's nothing left to cheer the wounded heart, 

Except what memory calls its own; 
And that is often like a poisoned dart 

That chills the soul when we are left alone. 

Yet, far beyond the sun and shining stars, 
There must be rest and joy for those who sigh. 

Where love eternal knows no cruel scars. 
And where affection cannot doubt or die! 



A SPRAY. 

[To the memory of Gustave A. Forsberg, artist.] 

I place a spray upon thy cold, dead form, 
To memory and the wilds of long ago; 

And think of thee in sunshine and in storm. 
As rhythmic music with its fluent flow. 

The time we spent in magic, midnight hours, 
Where art and beauty led the truant train. 

Have vanished with the bright and fading flowers 
That ne'er shall thrill our wandering lives again. 

But, in my heart I cherish all your glory. 
And o'er your coffined manhood shed a tear; 

While life remains I'll sound your genial story, 
And tell your pleasant tales from year to year. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 233 

SHALL WE LIVE AGAIN ? 
[Dedicated to Hon. William B. Allison, U. S. Senator.] 

I asked the hills in vernal bloom 
To tell me if beyond the tomb 
The mind of man is full and free, 
The heir to all eternity. 

I asked the seas, that grandly roll 
Their wrinkled brows from pole to pole, 
If far beyond their utmost shore 
There is a life for evermore. 

I asked the stars, that nightly shine 
As jewels in the crown divine, 
If man shall live within their sphere, 
Devoid of all the dross that's here. 

I asked the sun, whose heavenly light 
Shines somewhere always day and night, 
To tell me if the soul of man 
Exists beyond this little span. 

The hills and seas, and stars and sun 
Made glorious answer one by one, 
Proclaiming with a grand refrain — 
**God wills that man shall live again .'" 



THE POET. 

You'll bury his body, but not his thought. 

For thousands of years to come; 
And he'll live in the works his brain has wrought 

When temples and statues are dumb. 

For he teaches the lesson of ages 

To all the schools of mankind — 
That old truth, with its golden pages, 

Is the essence of magic mind. 

And his songs shall sound o'er the rolling years 

To the tune of eternal time, 
And echo along through celestial spheres 

With the bliss of angelic rhyme. 



234 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

SHED NO TEARS. 

[Dedicated to my wife.] 

Shed no tears when I am gone, 

Cease thy earthly sorrow ; 
Find again some fairer one, 

Love again tomorrow. 

Shed no tears, for tears are vain. 
To bring back the departed; 

Who lived in keen, pathetic pain, 
And died — the broken hearted. 

Shed no tears, let sunshine fill 

The measure of thy life; 
Wander like a sparkling rill, 

Away from sin and strife. 

Shed no tears above my clay. 
But lay me 'neath the willow. 

Where the morning sunbeams play 
Above my pulseless pillow. 

Shed no tears, but in some hour 

Go kneel beside my grave; 
Plant a bright, carnation flower, 

And lonely let it wave. 

Then, turn away, but shed no tears, 

And seek the banquet hall; 
Where you may shine throughout the years, 

The pride and joy of all! 

THE EAGLE. 

[Dedicated to Columbia.] 

Who taught you how to soar so high, 

And wander in the upper blue? 
Why can't I float along the sky 

And be a mate with storms and you? 
I've seen you from grand rocky heights 

Sail proudly on your tireless wing, 
And bathe your plumage in the lights 



POETIC PEBBLES. 235 

Where you have ruled, as battle king. 
Your shoreless realm is broad and free, 

Without a limit here below, 
And reaches to eternity, 

Where heavenly waters flash and flow. 
How well you typify the force 

Of nature and her royal plan, 
The form and power and strength and source 

Of all that's great in tyrant man. 
On Alpine crags in winter hours 

Your flashing eye defies the sun. 
And battles with the stormy powers 

Till nature and her laws are won. 
You rob the hills so far away. 

Where reigns the wolf and stalwart stag, 
To feed your brood at close of day. 

That hunger on the mountain crag. 
And in the rosy rays of dawn 

I've heard your wild and piercing scream. 
When dashing on the famished fawn 

While drinking at the sparkling stream. 
Oh! could I fly and sail with you, 

Where Freedom holds her splendid sway 
Among the stars that gem the blue, 

And lights up an eternal day! 



APOSTROPHE TO OLD OCEAN. 

[The Grave of Untold Millions.] 

Uprear your hills of emerald spray, 
And drown mankind that sail today. 
Engulf them in your gloomy grave, 
Where coral branches lonely wave. 
Leave no memorial where they died. 
But revel in your royal pride. 
Millions of years you've reigned alone, 
A mighty monarch on your throne. 
And how you roll and rave and roar 
Against the rocks upon the shore. 
Destroying islands in your course — 
A tyrant power without remorse. 



236 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

Great lands have sunk beneath your tread, 

Enwrapping millions with the dead. 

You shriek o'er those you now entomb, 

Who vanished in their brilliant bloom, 

And roar their dirge with ceaseless strain, 

Demanding more to still enchain 

Within your hungry mammoth maw, 

The emblem of eternal law ! 

Vain are the powers of man to stay 

Your gnawing grasp so cold and gray 

That earthquake shocks cannot retire 

Or ruin with volcanic fire. 

Your tidal waves reach high and grand 

To devastate the ling'ring land ; 

And how you laugh with thund'ring joy 

When us weak mortals you destroy. 

Forever roll from pole to pole, 

Thou tyrant god without a soul; 

From arctic snow to tropic sun. 

The glory of that Mystic One, 

Who times the tide from land to land, 

And holds the waters in His hand. 

Encircle all the earth with fear 

And be the terror of the year; 

Uprear your broad-back billows high. 

Defy the clouds and storms and sky. 

And challenge all that sin or sigh 

To come to thee, lament and die ! 



GENIUS. 

[Dedicated to Leo Wheat, of Virginia.] 

He thrills the heart with grand, poetic numbers. 
And plucks the crown of thorns from brows of care; 

He wakes and thinks what time the sluggard slumbers, 
And scatters gems of beauty everywhere. 

Entrancing music with voluptuous swell 

He casts upon the weary, mystic mind, 
Sounding as sweetly as some far-off bell. 

Evolving hope and love for all mankind. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 237 

The canvas glows beneath his magic hand 
With forms of grace, and grace that is divine; 

He pictures all the gems of sea and land, 
Securing to the world the superfine. 

His chisel carves the marble into form 

Of bust and statue, pyramid and tower, 
Defying ages of both sun and storm 

To crush the thought that thrilled him for an hour. 

And yet the Genius with his suffering soul 

Oft wanders o'er the earth misunderstood 
By chattering daws who never reach the goal 

Of knowing how to do their fellows good. 

But when he's seen no more in field or town, 

And all his mortal part lies cold and dead, 
Some sage or city for their self-renown, 

Will give a shaft where once he needed bread ! 



THE DYING YEAR. 

The year is dying, the winds are sighing 
Amid the forest branches cold and gray. 

While snows are falling and crows are calling 
Their mates in chorus through the cloudy day. 

I pause and ponder and weirdly wander 
Among the years that slumber in the past. 

Where friends have vanished with pleasure banished, 
While vainlike visions haunt me to the last. 

That dead December I well remember 
When dear bright beauties beamed upon my life, 

And every treasure brought double pleasure 
Before I lost my loving child and wife. 

And yet the roses and perfumed posies 
Will bloom again above their vernal sod, 

Where Hope still lingers with rosy fingers 
To point us to the glory of our God. 



238 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



THE CLICK OF THE CLOCK. 

[To an Old Clock.] 

Every click of the clock lessens life's little span, 

And blots out the hopes of an hour, 
With all the ambitions of vain little man 

Who struts in his pride and his power. 

Every tick of the clock drives us on to the end 
Of the road through the journey of life, 

While out of the line falls friend after friend 
Away from all sorrow and strife. 

Every stroke of the clock in the midnight of care 

Sounds solemn and dreary and lone, 
While the heart grows so weary, so barren and bare, 

Beating on to the dark, great unknown. 

Our days are soon numbered and soon we'll depart 

To the darkness encircling the tomb, 
But while we remain let us cherish each heart 

And virtue that's ever in bloom. 

Let us hope and believe that the spirit shall reign 

In a realm of love and of light, 
Where dear ones shall clasp us again and again 

And everything rules for the right ! 

THE LONG AGO. 

[Dedicated to Gen. James M. Ewing, Washington, D. C.l 

Dear Jim, do you think of the long, long ago ? 

When our hearts and our souls were all feeling, 
And we knew not of sin, of sorrow, or woe 

When classmates at school in old Wheeling. 

The years have flown fast; the cold winter blast 
Has furrowed our hearts and our features. 

Yet the fate we endure is as certainly sure 
To come to all weak, human creatures. 

Yet, as life runs along, we shall sing the " old song " 

Of Love, Truth, and Justice forever, 
And wherever we be, on the land or the sea. 

No storm our friendship can sever. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 239 

We'll laugh and we'll think, and "sometimes " may drink 

To the friends that we knew in the dawning, 
When life was so bright, every morn, noon, and night, 

And the heart never thought about fawning. 

And when life is o'er, on some beautiful shore 

I hope we shall meet amid flowers 
With the friends of our youth, whose beauty and truth 

Shall enliven sweet heavenly hours. 



NAPOLEON. 

A wreck of ambition, deserted, alone, 

He rode o'er the bones of mankind to a throne: 

Men, women, and nations were playthings to him, 

A great goblet of blood he quaffed to the brim. 

The faithful of France he slaughtered for fame, 

While kings were his pawns and queens were his game; 

His conquering eagles o'er Alpine snow. 

Rushed down, like an avalanche, freighted with woe; 

The fierce storms of old Moscow fanning its fire, 

Compelled the invader to turn and retire, 

And leave untold thousands to die in his track. 

For vultures to feed on and Cossacks to hack. 

The star of his destiny sunk out of view; 

Eclipsed in the blood of his last Waterloo; 

Then, exiled from France, his hope and his pride, 

Caged like a lion he fretted and died. 

A marvelous meteor that flashed o'er the wave. 

To darkle at last in the gloom of the grave. 

Far better, the lowest, poor peasant of France, 

Who toils in his vineyard or joins in the dance, 

Than all of his glory in battle array. 

That, sooner or later, will vanish away. 

Peace, virtue, and truth are the jewels of joy — 

The hope of the world, without base alloy; 

The gifts of our Maker, the best on this sod. 

The glory of genius and tributes of God. 

Vain, vain, all the pomp of Napoleon's high pride; 

Broken-hearted, alone, disappointed, he died. 

And left to the world but the sound of his name, 

The fool of ambition, the football of fame ! 



240 . JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



THE ANSWER OF THE STARS. 

[Dedicated to the memory of my dear daughter, Katie darling.] 

I held her dead, cold hand in mine. 

Then gazed upon her folded eyes, 
And asked her for a single sign 

To guide me to the heavenly skies. 

I smoothed her gentle, lovely face 
And fixed the tresses on her brow ; 

I kissed her lips, like fretted lace, 
Still trusting she might answer now. 

Yet she was dumb as marble stone, 

And left me lonely to repine; 
I called her " darling," " sweet," '* mine own,' 

But still she gave me not a sign. 

I laid her in the dull, cold earth, 
Where roses bloom above her head, 

And where the faithful have new birth 
In realms beyond, where none are dead. 

I then appealed unto the stars. 
Those radiant eyes of God's domain — 

When they replied o'er golden bars, 

"The good shall meet their own again! " 



A TOAST TO ERIN. 

[Dedicated to the memory of Robert Emmet.] 

Here's to the land of the shamrock and myrtle. 
The land of the linnet, the lark, and the thrush; 

Where always is heard the mourne of the turtle. 
That coos to his mate from the hawthorn bush. 

Here's to the land of the glorious Emmet, 
Who fell in the front of fair Freedom's sweet cause; 

The land of Wolf Tone, and love without limit. 
That tramples forever o'er tyranny's laws. 

Here's to the land of great Goldsmith and Grattan, 
To Sheridan, Phillips, O'Connell, and Moore, 

Whose brains shone as bright as sheen on the satin, 
Was filled with the riches of legendary lore. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 24 1 

Here's to the land of the roebuck and heather, 
The wild '* Connaught Rangers " that never knew fear; 

Who battle for freedom in fair or foul weather, 
And die for their country through year after year. 

Here's to the bright Limerick lasses forever; 

The dear Dublin belles and the ladies of Cork; 
Their hearts are so true that distance can't sever 

The songs they have sung with the notes of a lark. 

Here's to the land of sweet songs and sad story; 

To exiles that roam o'er this cold, barren earth; 
To men who have bled on battlefields gory, 

Successful for all but the land of their birth. 

Here's to old Erin, the gem of the ocean, 

The land of the poet, the soldier, and sage; 
Where eloquence burns with fire and emotion — 

Where liberty struggles from age unto age ! 



WE NEVER DIE ! 

We never die, and only step 

From sphere to sounding sphere, 

Advancing ever forward 
Through one eternal year. 

We never die, but only change 
This coat of crumbling clay 

For garments ever brighter — 
For one celestial day. 

We never die, we always lived 
In worlds before this earth; 

Let's onward, onward ever 
To where the soul had birth. 

We never die ; there is no death ! 

All nature teaches life. 
The soul shall live forever 

Beyond this vale of strife. 



24? JEWELS OF MEMORY. 



O'ER THE EMBERS. 

O'er the embers of departed pleasure 
I ponder lonely on the days no more, 

And think of loved ones that I fondly treasure 
Who've long since landed on the other shore. 

Their image beams from out the smoldering fire, 
Where memory holds her banquet to the last; 

Their voices vibrate on the golden lyre 

That links the passing present with the past. 

Again I hear their songs of bliss and beauty, 
Their merry laughter and their joyous glee, 

When all was truth and hope and duty, 
And Life and Love were all the world to me. 

And though the snows of many a cruel vvinter 
Have fallen thickly o'er my bending head, 

And Time upon my brow has been a printer, 
I still must cherish the dear, sainted dead. 

Well ! I'll cover up the embers with the ashes 
Of fruitless efforts that have passed away. 

And linger on the lights that memory flashes 
Across the fields now barren, bleak, and gray. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 243 



ARLINGTON. 

A PROSE POEM — GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF THE NATIONAL 

CEMETERY. 

[Dedicated to the Twenty-sixth National Encampment, G. A. R. ; framed and hung 
up in soldier cemeteries, homes, and Grand Army posts.] 

Arlington holds within her emerald bosom 17,000 heroic warriors. 
Like an Egyptian Queen in mournful majesty, gazing on the eter- 
nal waters of the Nile, Arlington rears her romantic head to the 
sky and bathes her feet in the murmuring waters of the Potomac. 

The gnarled oak, the cedar, and sighing pine echo back the caw 
of the crow and the song of the wild bird, and through the morning 
sunlight and evening twilight the various voices of nature chant a 
requiem over the mouldering remains of our loyal dead. 

This spot is dedicated to heroism. Its green sward is the mau- 
soleum of patriotic hearts, its dome the bending heavens, and its 
altar candles the watching stars of God ! 

As the years glide away and coming centuries usher into life 
millions of human beings, Arlington shall be a Mecca for the 
unalterable principles of truth, and around its undulating vales 
and green hillocks the spirit of love and loyalty shall kneel at the 
vespers of Nationality and swing perfumed censors at the holy 
shrine of prayer and patriotism. 

Monuments in marble, granite, and bronze lift their modest or 
pretentious heads, appealing to the memory of those who wander 
near the lowly bed where valor sleeps, but when these emblems of 
love and remembrance shall have passed away and crumbled into 
impalpable dust, the truth for which they died shall shine out like 
the rising sun and be as lasting as eternity. 

The home of romance, wealth, and slavery has become at last 
the sepulcher of the dead, and the laughing, musical voices of the 
proud past are but a memory in the columned mansion of General 
Lee. 

Sheridan, of the Army, and Porter, of the Navy, sleep their last 
sleep in front of Arlington mansion, and the Stars and Stripes 
floating from the tall staff throws its glinting shadows over the 
heroes that rest below. 

Long, regimental lines of white headstones fade away into forest 
vistas, and Sheridan seems to ride down the valley, through Win- 
chester, to turn retreat into victory. 

Templed, unlike the Roman Pantheon, the divinities of Arling- 



244 JEWELS OF MEMORY. 

ton are dedicated to patriotism, and its worshipers are a Christian 
people. From its columned porch the eye beholds to the east and 
north, across the Potomac, the mansions, temples, steeples, domes, 
and monuments of Washington and Georgetown, framed in by the 
rolling hills of Maryland. To the south and west the eye may 
linger on the historic Long Bridge and Alexandria, where the 
martyr Ellsworth lost his life for freedom. 

In the dim distance a chain of forts and earthworks rear their 
crumbling heads. Thirty years of rains, snows, and suns have 
wrinkled their bald brows, yet Dame Nature, with her universal 
kindness, has covered the rude scars of war with the daisy, the 
the morning glory, and the Virginia creeper. 

The ploughshare of industry has leveled down the red ridges of 
rebellion, and where once the reveille and long roll of battle re- 
sounded, the horn of the husbandman calls his toilers of peace 
from fields of waving grain and golden fruit to the rustic board of 
joy and love. 

The brave hearts that slumber forever at Arlington, as well as 
those dear comrades at Shiloh, Chickamauga, Fredericksburg, 
and Gettysburg, dedicated their lives to liberty and immortalized 
their devotion by death. Who will care for their loved mounds 
when we are gone ? Who will then strew roses and plant bright 
flowers in the May-time of nature ? Other patriotic hands of brave 
men and fair women will take up the roll of duty, and even when 
all but liberty has perished from the earth the robin and the blue- 
bird, the jay, and the mocking bird will warble at sunrise a reveille 
over the green sod that wraps their sacred clay. Nature herself 
will deck the graves of our fallen comrades, and the winds of 
Heaven will chant a requiem to their memory and kiss the loved 
spot where heroes slumber. 

Thousands of loved comrades rest in unknown graves, far away 
from the loved ones at home. They sleep in a land of strangers, 
where the tears of love cannot moisten the green shroud that man- 
tles their ashes. But if no kind hand is there to strew flowers, or 
loved eye to shed the tear of sorrow, there is One that reigns among 
the eternal stars that daily flood the unknown grave with sunshine 
and nightly water the budding wild flowers with dews from Heaven! 

Beside the river grave grasses quiver, 
Where loyal hosts, their work have bravely done; 

They sleep in glory and live in story — 
The martyred heroes of our Arlington. 



POETIC PEBBLES. 245 

Upon the ocean with deep devotion 

Our naval heroes fought with noble pride, 
Sustained our banner in gallant manner, 

And for their country freely bled and died. 

No more to battle where muskets rattle, 
And blood flowed free as water from a spring. 

At rest forever beside the river — 
The nation's chalice with its oifering ! 

The flag they fought for, the end they sought for, 

Shine grandly in the Union of today, 
And no false reason or trumped up treason 

Can from its granite moorings cut away. 

No sunlight streaming nor moonlight beaming 
Shall ever shine for these brave hearts again; 

Their race is finished, yet undiminished, 
Their glory triumphs o'er the battle plain. 

Unborn ages on golden pages 

Shall tell the story of their loyal cause. 
And how they perished for rights they cherished 

Defending Freedom and her honest laws. 



THE END. 



,^>; 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




III 111', mill 

0012195 7127 



